


The Art of Forgetting

by fellowshipofthefandoms



Series: Forgetting/Remembering/Forgiving [1]
Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Cherik - Freeform, Erik Has Feelings, Happy Ending, M/M, Pining for fifty goddamn years, Torture, Young character death, alternate POV, but does not talk about them, charles wants to talk about it, dramatic declarations of love, kidnapping and danger, possibly some man tears, some violence, you know how it goes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-14 23:14:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 45,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4583811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fellowshipofthefandoms/pseuds/fellowshipofthefandoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For years now Charles had been keeping Magneto and Erik separate in his mind. It was much easier to think of the terrorist and his old friend in different spheres because anything else simply hurt too much. </p><p>But, even with his compartmentalizing, this attack didn’t appear to him to be the work of Erik, or even of Magneto.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Charles

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place sometime in between X-Men and X2, no definite year. I plan on posting chapters twice a week until the fic is done. My never ending thanks to my best friend and master editor Sophia (sluttyarborist on tumblr) for sticking with me for all the ups and downs of my writing.

Charles always hated watching the news. 

With its constant stream of horror stories and real life nightmares, it hardly goes for pleasant watching.

However, the real reason for Charles’ aversion is how he aches to know the whole story.

The newscasters read off their cue cards and tell the tales as they’ve been instructed to, but there is no real feeling. Charles wants to peek into their minds, if only to know their surface emotions, their reactions to this or that tragedy, but there is always a glass screen and however many miles preventing him from doing just that. 

He has never wanted to read a reporter more than he did at that moment.

The screen was constantly shifting from a shot of the brunette woman reporting the story and aerial shots of a block of burning buildings. As a reporter she was keeping her composure, but Charles wanted so badly to know what else she thought of this tragedy.

Earlier that day someone had set off some sort of bomb in Denver, Colorado, practically leveling a city block. The scale of the destruction was unprecedented, and the combined force of the Denver PD was scrambling to find the source of the explosion, the type of bomb, and the reason for its detonation.

Unfortunately, Charles had a creeping feeling that he could answer one of their questions.

The camera panned away from the wreckage and the shot cut back to the woman. She was listing off the businesses and other establishments on the streets that were possible targets for the terrorist attack.

“Franklin & Burns Attorney’s Office, the Headquarters of United Gas Works, the Denver office of the HAM, the-”

The sound coming from the television abruptly cut off as Scott pressed the mute button and stood, covering his face with his hands and sighing. “We all know who did this,” he said, attempting to reign in his anger. Charles could feel his rage bubbling just below the surface.

Jean and Storm turned to look at Charles. 

“We have no solid evidence,” Charles said. He sounded unconvincing even to his own ears.

“Almost every attack on the Humans Against Mutants for the past five years has been traced back to the Brotherhood,” Jean stated, obviously trying to stay level-headed. “We know nothing for sure, but it’s extremely likely that this was Magneto’s doing.”

“Professor,” Scott forced through gritted teeth, “There are almost five hundred confirmed dead, and they haven’t finished searching through the destruction yet. He has lost all regard for human life.”

“I’m afraid any regard he had for humans disappeared a long time ago,” On that beach, Charles thought to himself, “A human life to him is practically nothing. However, Magneto has never launched an attack of this magnitude, especially without claiming responsibility. Something is off about this one.” Charles couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he was entirely unconvinced that Erik had done this.

Storm interjected, “It could have been a particularly volatile lieutenant of his acting alone.”

“How could we not know of someone with that sort of power?” Scott asked, his voice rising.

“It could have simply been a bomb,” Jean said. 

Charles reached out with his mind and did a cursory search of each of their thoughts. His power had progressed to the point where he could do this without causing any mental disturbance, and gather any information he needed in a few seconds.

Scott, as expected, was sure Magneto was behind the attack and was prepared to fly out immediately to launch a counterattack. Mixed in with his anger were thoughts of so many dead and why can’t it stop.

Jean was predictably thinking very logically about the entire situation. Her well-organized mind was thinking around every possibility of who could be responsible and their reasoning. There was a hint of anger and sadness in the back of her mind.

Storm was the wildcard, as always, and Charles was shocked by the weight of her sadness. When he looked slightly deeper he saw that although she felt for the people who were killed and their families, most of her sorrow was for him. She knew that every time Magneto killed it hardened his heart and crushed his spirit just a little bit more. Destruction on this level would leave Charles wounded.

He had strict permission from all three of them to read their minds, but only surface thoughts and emotions. They know he would never delve into their minds and violate their privacy without them allowing it. 

“We should go to Denver. If there’s any trace of who did this we need to find it and follow the trail.” True to his thoughts, Scott was ready for action.

“Scott, we can’t just leave the school in the middle of the week. We can wait for the weekend.” Jean told him, always mindful of the students.

Storm spoke up again, “I agree with Scott. We need to get to the bottom of this as soon as possible.” Jean and Scott were both surprised, Storm usually took the side of patience over action. 

“You leave in the morning,” Charles said, adding a layer of authority into his voice.

The three of them nodded without question and left the room, understanding that the conversation was over. Charles directed his wheelchair out the door after he was sure they had dispersed, traveling to his personal study.

It was a place of comfort for him. The room had belonged to his father when Charles was a child, and he had taken it over when he first established the school. It was filled with all his favorite books and a gorgeous mahogany chess table.

The pieces were in disarray due to the game Charles had been playing against himself and forgot to clean the night before. He liked to play chess every once in a while, stretch out his brain for a while. Time and time again he tried to convince himself it wasn’t because chess brought back some of the few happy memories of his youth.

He rearranged the pieces into the correct formation and grabbed a book, an old favorite on the first mutations of the primitive humanoids into Homo sapiens. The book usually at least held most of his concentration for a short while, but the words could have been in Greek for all he could read them.

Charles tried to reign in his thoughts, but his mind continued to wander and soon enough he gave up on reading completely. Not only was he deeply sad for all the dead, he was confused and unsettled.

He knew those people didn’t deserve to die, at least the vast majority of them didn’t, but someone had killed them with little to no discrimination. Even though Jean and Storm were trying to look at the situation logically, Charles knew that deep down they agreed with Scott. They all thought this was the Brotherhood, that this was Erik.

For years now Charles had been keeping Magneto and Erik separate in his mind. It was much easier to think of the terrorist and his old friend in different spheres because anything else simply hurt too much. 

But, even with his compartmentalizing, this attack didn’t appear to him to be the work of Erik, or even of Magneto. 

Charles stayed in his office, contemplating the situation and occasionally muttering to himself possible explanations. He always said talking to himself is a side-effect of the telepathy. All the voices in his head often felt like they were crowding out his own thoughts. Speaking aloud eliminated the issue. Jean had teased lightly that it is due to old age, even though Charles had gotten into the habit in his early twenties.

Soon enough all light drained from the sky and the hands of the clock showed an hour far past when Charles usually retired. Charles did his nightly scan of the mansion, touching upon the familiar minds of all his students. He knew every one of them, intimately, and it never ceased to take his breath away, the unique beauty of a child’s mind.

Everyone was seemingly safe and accounted for, and Charles shook off the lingering feeling of unease and rolled his chair down the hall to the elevator. After it had been installed he had moved from a room on the ground floor to the master suite. He was thankful to live in a part of the house without so many old memories.

As he went through the nightly motions with practiced ease he worked to quiet his mind. It had always been difficult for him to fall asleep with so many thoughts, both those of his own and of others, keeping him up late into the night. However, with old age came control. Now Charles had the ability to put up shields only a telepath with power to match his own could break through.

Sleep came blessedly easy, and it drove all thoughts of worry from his mind.


	2. Erik

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be switching points of view every chapter and any of the characters listed are possible candidates to be the focus of a chapter.

Erik had been kidnapped many times, but he couldn’t help the seething rage at being so easily caught.

He had been in one of the Brotherhood’s many hideouts, a house hidden away in the Rocky Mountains in Colorado, before his capture. There were only four other mutants in the house, the two who remained at the safe house at all times and two from Erik’s personal guard.

Erik had handpicked them to help protect him, even though he could take care of himself quite well. Wren had leathery wings similar to a bat’s and could shoot venom out the veins of her wrist. Her blood itself was extremely toxic and she was quite useful in diverting opponents. Bull was a hulking man with super strength and wrist spikes which came in handy for hand to hand combat. 

Usually Magneto traveled with no less than four mutants in his personal entourage, but he found himself tiring of the company of young, cocky mutants in his old age. His own power had also gotten to a point where most assailants were no match for him. Three ounces of metal was enough to make him a lethal weapon.

The house in the Rockies was extremely well-hidden, and Erik had let himself relax, if only slightly, for a short while. He had no immediate agenda other than dictating a small attack on that despicable HAM. Mystique was leading a group of five Brothers and Sisters to destroy the Seattle chapter. Erik felt a flicker of worry for her, indulging in a moment of sentiment before reassuring himself that Mystique had always been his most trusted and competent lieutenant.

He gazed out the window at the admittedly spectacular view and attempted something akin to relaxation. Maybe he would take a nap.

Just as he started to drift off, Erik heard a quiet sound from the other side of the house. At the same moment, he sensed metal that had not been in the house before. He realized why the shape of it was so familiar just before the grenade exploded.

The blast battered his eardrums and he could feel the heat of a fire a few rooms away. Erik reflexively grabbed his helmet off the table where he had set it and put in on. He felt for the metal in the walls and pulled, forming two javelins out of water pipes and levitating them at his side. 

Even though he could hear footsteps in the house, he sensed no other unfamiliar metal. The attackers had come prepared, and they had come for him. 

Erik heard Bull’s unmistakable roar from a room to his left followed by a crash. A screech echoed from another room, indicating that Wren had also met the assailants. Erik slowly walked through the house, filled with nervous energy and prepared to impale the first person he saw.

Unfortunately, the first person he came across was dead. One of the mutants from the house, a man with rough green skin and cat-like eyes, had been caught in the explosion and thrown against the wall. Blood was congealing in a puddle beneath his head. Magneto stepped over him and continued, sparing a short thought for the fallen Brother.

He entered the kitchen and met one of the unidentified attackers. The man was outfitted in SWAT team gear and carrying a plastic gun. Erik absolutely hated plastic guns. He made short work of the man, launching a javelin into his throat and quickly retracting it, leaving him to bleed out on the tile. Erik assumed they were humans, due to their obvious organization and their weapons, and his rage bubbled to the surface.

There were three more in the next room and Erik killed one before the others even noticed him. One had a plastic gun identical to the man in the kitchen, but the other was holding a small contraption made of metal, so small it had escaped Erik’s hasty sweep of the house. Erik launched a javelin at the man with the plastic gun and summoned the metal object at the same time. He saw a slight twitch in the last man’s face, almost as if he were smiling, a moment before the object landed in his palm and Erik realized his mistake.

It was some sort of electrical inhibitor, activating the moment it touched Erik’s skin. In his rush he hadn’t had time to put his gloves on. It sent a shock through Erik’s entire body, and he heard the javelins clatter against the floor as he lost control. His vision went red as the pain took over every part of his body. The burning started to fade at the same time the edges of his vision started to turn black. 

Erik gathered the last of his strength, sensing every piece of metal in the entire house, and attempted to bring the house down on himself and everyone else in it. When he tried to collapse the foundation the inhibitor, still on his palm, flared and sent a shockwave through him even stronger than the first. He hit the floor hard and registered a soft chuckle through the ringing in his ears.

“Your power can’t get you out of every problem, Magneto.”

The obviously mocking sentence with its much too familiar voice was the last thing he heard before his vision went black and the world faded away.

He had woken up in a concrete room with a plastic door. The overwhelming sense of déjà vu was disheartening to say the least.

It had been slightly flattering in the late 60s to be placed in a prison built specifically for him because he could break out of any normal facility in the world. In the 80s and 90s it simply became predictable, and by the year 2000 Erik was an old man, dreadfully tired of the boxes his numerous enemies ceaselessly confined him to.

This one was no different, but, just to be sure, he pushed out the range of his powers, sensing for any metal in his radius. There was nothing, just as every other time, but that didn’t stop the disappointment from seeping in.

They had taken his clothing and dressed him in a grey jumpsuit, all Velcro, obviously. Erik gave himself a moment to feel indignant that his captors had undressed him while unconscious, then put it aside to focus on the problem at hand.

The attack could have been orchestrated by any man (or woman, the voice of Mystique whispered in the back of his head) with means. Anyone with sufficient funds could buy the private army who had attacked them and their veritable arsenal of non-metal weapons. The device which had incapacitated him, however, was more unique. It would have taken someone very intelligent and specialized to develop technology which attacked the use of powers. Erik could not recall any object like this ever crossing his path before, so it had most likely been created with his capture in mind. 

He would know more once the identity of his attacker was revealed. It could technically have been a human or a mutant who had taken him, but Erik assumed it was a human. Most mutants were adverse to the thought of inhibiting another’s power. Erik ignored the thoughts of how he always assumed it was a human because he couldn’t stand the idea of any mutant being against him. 

He immediately thought of Charles. Charles would not be happy with the attack in Seattle. Erik could see it now, Charles watching the news in the mansion, seeing footage of the HAM building and the subsequent claiming of the attack from the Brotherhood. Charles would sigh and tsk at any lives lost, even worthless human ones. He would probably attempt to contact Erik. Seattle was going to be the first attack in nearly six months. Charles might have been holding out hope that Erik was finished, or maybe that he was dead.

Erik’s musings on Charles were interrupted by the sound of footsteps outside the cell. A moment later a man appeared, unarmed, outside the door. He was flanked by two others outfitted as the men in the house had been. They entered through the door and stood facing Erik where he sat on the floor. Erik felt no need to stand, finding himself too sore and disgruntled to be insulted by being looked down upon.

For a moment while he looked at the man in the center, obviously the leader, he felt inexplicable foreboding. As Erik examined the dark, well-groomed facial hair and piercing brown the thin face matched up with a name in his mind.

Erik had never known the man’s real name, but during his time with the Brotherhood he had gone by Crash. He was a remarkably powerful mutant with the ability to create shockwaves with his hands and feet. With concentration he could bring down a building. The reason Erik was surprised was not the man’s power or former allegiance, but the fact that he was dead.

Crash had been killed during a mission three years prior. He had been shot by one of those cursed plastic bullets and then crushed beneath a wall due to an uncontrolled burst of his own power. There had been no time to retrieve his body, but also no doubt that he had perished.

“Remember me, Magneto?” he said with a smile.

“I was under the distinct impression you had died,” Erik replied, projecting an air of nonchalance to offset his original shock.

“If you had deigned to remove the wall I was trapped under, you would have discovered I had merely been subjected to immense pain and bodily injury. The Americans found me a few hours later and brought me in for testing. I waited in a hospital room that felt like a prison for weeks nursing a broken leg, three fractured ribs, a concussion, and multiple puncture wounds. The Brotherhood never came. Some brothers and sisters you were, leaving me to the dogs.”

“In war there are casualties. I’m sure you are familiar with this,” Erik smiled at him patronizingly.

“I guess you never were a ‘no man gets left behind’ sort of guy.” Crash seemed remarkably at ease with his fate. Erik waited for him to speak, expecting threats of torture and death unless he complied. It really had all become quite tedious. “You probably never knew my real name. Although Crash does suit me quite well, here I’m known as Franklin, Franklin Wale. These men,” he gestured to the soldiers at his flanks, “are part of my own personal army, with which you have been well acquainted. However, they aren’t going to help me, you are.”

Erik felt as if he could have recited the speech himself, word for word. The threats came next, then the goal, and finally what Erik’s role would be in all of this.

“You, and your old friend Charles Xavier.” Wale paused and smiled like he knew he had surprised Erik even though Erik didn’t let anything show on his face. He felt panic for a moment because Charles had to be mixed up in all of this, but then he relaxed. Charles was the most powerful mutant on the planet, Erik had no doubt of that. Crash and his men would have a nearly impossible time capturing him with those blasted X-Men protecting him. Even if they got Charles they would never be able to force him into helping them.

“How exactly are you planning on getting the ever noble Charles Xavier to help you?” Erik asked, slightly mocking.

Wale actually laughed. “Magneto, I’m not going to make Xavier do anything. You are.”

“And how are you going to manage that, Mr. Wale?”

“I have my ways,” Wale replied with a smile. He turned on his heel and exited the cell, his two men following after him.

Erik sighed once they were out of sight and hoped against hope that Charles and his brats would be a match for Wale and whatever other weapons he had up his sleeve.


	3. Charles

The video came out the next day. It was a static-filled feed projecting a man in a cloak and hood, hiding his face from view.

“The Brotherhood takes full responsibility for the attack in Denver. Any mutant life loss is regrettable, and any other life lost in none of our concern.” The voice was deep with an incongruous accent, probably disguised.

If anything, the video strengthened Charles’ opinion that Erik and his men were not behind this. Erik never had any qualms about showing his face to the world, and he always starred in the Brotherhood’s usual videos. Something was definitely wrong.

“There!” Scott said, “It’s them. Now let’s go.

Scott, Storm, and Jean had already suited up and were in the study awaiting Charles’ word.

“There is definitely something off about this attack. However, that does not change the fact that you three must go to Denver. I simply ask that you proceed with the utmost caution.” Charles told them, trying to ignore his instincts screaming to make them stay.

“We always do, Professor,” Jean replied with a smile. Storm and Scott nodded and they filed out of the room. Charles tracked their minds through the mansion and into the sublevel. He finally came back to himself after they had boarded the jet and lifted off.

He sighed and gazed out the window to the mansion’s recreation area. The children had been given their classes off for the day due to the fact that their teachers had just flown away. There was a group of around ten children, boys and girls, playing a game of basketball on the court. Another two girls were jump-roping on the sidelines. Charles smiled as one of the girls used her power to jump ten feet in the air, flipping the rope around herself six times before landing again. The children always brought him peace of mind, but he did wish he had a class to teach to get his mind off of his worry.

For a second he thought back on days 50 years prior where he would have set out on a mission with well-bred cockiness and the understanding he was the most powerful person in the room. Those days ended when the school began to preoccupy most of his time and the convenience of being able to walk was a distant memory.

Charles had lost all bitterness many years ago, understanding that he was lucky he was still alive and his powers still intact. Still, thinking about his days in Oxford when he had gone out on the town every night he wasn’t writing his thesis brought a smile to his face. Life had been simple in those days, but Charles understood that just because his life was much more complicated now, it was much more rewarding to live for his school and all the children in it.

He was jolted out of his thoughts by a hesitant knock on the door.

“Come in,” he said levelly, reverting back to the benevolent Professor.

Rogue and her boyfriend, Bobby Drake, entered slowly. They both gave him small smiles.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Charles asked, gesturing for them to sit down. Rogue sat without question and Bobby slowly followed suit.

“We heard the jet take off,” Rouge said.

“It has something to do with that attack in Colorado, doesn’t it?” Bobby added quickly.

Charles should have known they were going to come to him, considering they were some of the oldest students and were quite impatient to join the ranks of the X-Men.

“You are right, Bobby. Scott, Storm, and Jean left to go stabilize the situation in Denver. I assume they will be back by the weekend.” Charles smiled reassuringly, quelling his own lingering doubts. Bobby seemed placated by this, but there as obviously something Rogue still wanted to say. “What is it, Rogue?” he asked gently.

She looked up surprised, but she quickly smoothed over her shock. _Telepath, right,_ she thought and Charles smiled again. “Well,” she started, still hesitant, “something’s not right. I’m not sure what it is, but I was watching the news and it all seems a little fishy to me.” Charles sensed her earnest belief in her words, and he also felt that Bobby didn’t agree with her. He supported her, of course, but in his opinion this was Magneto, and he needed to be stopped.

“What do you mean?” Charles nudged her to continue. He could simply gather all her thoughts from her mind, but it made more sense to have her articulate it herself.

“Professor, you can’t tell me there isn’t something different about this one. I just don’t think this was Magneto.” The derision and anger in her voice when she said his name was obvious. She wanted to believe that Erik had done this, but wanting to believe something didn’t make it true. Rogue was a smart girl.

Usually Charles wouldn’t confide anything about a mission to a student, but he saw no reason to lie to rouge when she had already figured out the truth for herself. “I agree with you. There is no doubt in my mind that the Brotherhood is not behind this. However, we have no clue who else could and would have launched an attack of this magnitude. That is why I needed to send Scott, Storm, and Jean to investigate the crisis. I trust them to find out what truly has happened.”

Both of the students smiled at him and he sensed some residual worry, but they were obviously comforted that he had confided in them. Bobby opened his mouth to speak, but before he could there was a crash from the west end on the mansion. On a normal day Charles would shrug it off as a child losing control of their powers and have the mess cleaned up, but he was already on edge and the timing was much too convenient. It only makes sense for someone to attack when the school’s three main protectors were gone.

“Bobby, Rogue, gather all the children you can find and take them to the lower levels. Now!” for a moment it looked as if Bobby was going to resist, but he stood and grabbed Rogue’s gloved hand, running into the hallway.

Charles wheeled out of the study and in the direction of the noise, forcing his mental range to extend around the entire mansion. He spoke into the minds of every student, _Get to the lower level and stay there. Bobby and Rogue will take care of you._ The rising panic of dozens of scared children nearly overwhelmed him, and Charles reached out to feel for any unfamiliar minds. There appeared to be no one in the mansion who shouldn’t be, but that only caused Charles’ heart to beat faster.

He rounded a corner and moved through a doorway into a room in the west wing. It was part of the student’s sleeping quarters, usually neatly organized with four twin beds lined up on either side of the room. The far wall had been destroyed, leaving a hole in the side of the mansion and the entire room in disarray.

Charles cautiously looked around and felt for any sign of whoever had caused the destruction. Just as he was about to give up a person stepped out of the clearing dust through the hole. It was a man, and as he took another step closer Charles realized he was wearing Erik’s helmet. But it was not Erik who had broken into the school.

The man smiled and held his arms out. “Professor! We meet at last.”

Charles was too busy thinking to respond. Something had happened to Erik. He would never let that cursed helmet out of his possession, not even to one of the Brotherhood, unless it had been taken by force. Not only had Erik been somehow incapacitated, whoever had defeated him must have tremendous power and resources. And that person had just broken into his school.

Charles knew he had little chance against someone whose mind he could not touch. He could control all the minds in Manhattan if he truly wanted to, but that helmet had always been an impossible thorn in his side. “Please, whatever you want with me, do not hurt the children.” Charles hoped against hope that this man had some measure of compassion.

“You are in luck, Charles. I came here for you. Your precious children will not be harmed. However, I will be sending in my men to supervise them in your absence. We can’t have any foolish heroics, can we?” The man’s tone was obviously threatening. Charles’ chest constricted as he thought of his children in the custody of this man and others like him. Just as he was about to send a message that the children should use the secret passageways to escape, he felt two minds fast approaching.

_No!_ He shouted at them mentally, but after a moment’s pause Bobby and Rouge burst into the room. Bobby raised his arms to send a wave of ice into the intruder, but before he could the man stomped his foot, causing a visible ripple across the floor. The shockwave hit Charles first, knocking him out of his chair and onto the floor. He lifted his head through the ringing in his ears to see Bobby and Rouge in similar positions on the ground, Bobby’s leg twisted at a sickening angle.

Charles mustered up the last of his strength and pushed out a message, too battered to bother about focusing. Most of Westchester probably heard his desperate call, _run._

Then there was a sharp blow to the back of his head, and everything went black.


	4. Erik

For three days after his first meeting with Wale, Erik heard nothing. At least, it was his approximation of three days. He had been brought nine meals at regular intervals except for a longer period which he assumed was night. Erik dutifully ate the food he was given, even though it was tasteless and hardly filling. He had learned his lesson in his youth, refusing food while imprisoned often left less of a statement and more of a hole in your stomach.

Time had passed silently and slowly. The guard who brought his food was changed regularly, and they always delivered the meal without a word or even a glance at Erik. It was better than torture, but the isolation was driving him slowly mad. Some of his other prisons had included books to read or a chess table to entertain himself. He gave a rueful chuckle at how he could compare all the different times he had been put in a cage.

Wale returned on what Erik assumed was the morning of the fourth day since his last visit. He entered the room practically exuding smugness.

“I always imagined Professor Xavier to be more impressive based on how you had talked about him. His powers are impressive, I’m sure, but without his telepathy he’s nothing more than a crippled old man.”

Erik felt a familiar rage building inside of him. He and Charles had their disagreements, but Charles was a powerful and intelligent man who deserved respect. Wale had no place mocking him.

“I take it you visited that school of his,” Erik replied, keeping his voice level.

“Always so perceptive, Magneto. I left slightly more damage than I had planned, but the extraction was a success. My men had a rough time of subduing all those mutants after I had departed, but they eventually got the situation under control.” Erik fought a smile when he thought about those children that Charles trained so well. He hoped no young mutant lives had been lost due to Wale’s forceful takeover.

“No troubles with that team of his?” Erik said, allowing a bit of distain into his tone after the number of times the X-Men had fought against him.

Wale smiled sharply, “They’ve been taken care of.” He had obviously thought out this plan of his.

“I take it you haven’t come to visit me simply to gloat. Is it time for me to be reunited with my old friend?” Erik felt a slight twinge of fear at what Wale had said last time they spoke. How he had said Erik was going to force Charles to do whatever Wale wanted.

“All in good time. You’re not ready to see him yet. I came to bring you to get prepared.” The cruel smile had not left his face.

“Lead on, then,” Erik said, giving Wale a smile of his own.

Wale laughed. “You should know by now that’s not how it works around here.” Before Erik could respond a guard came forward and struck him with the butt of his plastic gun. He felt himself being lifted onto some sort of rolling table before the world faded away.

He returned to consciousness after what seemed like only a few minutes. The room was different, and Erik could feel metal around him. He would have laughed if his head didn’t hurt so badly. There were straps across his chest and legs, and cuffs around his wrists and ankles. He felt out the metal in the room, sensing for a piece he could easily form into a knife. Erik tugged at a piece the right shape and size, but the second he tried to summon it to him a shock tore through his body.

He was still shuddering when he heard an all-too-familiar chuckle from behind his head. “You should know by now that I’m not an idiot. No use of your powers while this,” Wale paused and tapped the inhibitor where it was attached to Erik’s neck, “is on you.”

Erik could have hit himself for not realizing the inhibitor was there, but as he tentatively reached out with his powers, he found that he could not sense the metal. It must have been made out of a material with no magnetic properties.

“Now that we have that out of the way, I think it’s time to begin.” Wale came around the table so Erik could see him. He was holding a vial of dark brown liquid in one hand and a syringe in the other. Erik’s heart started to pound.

Erik looked around the room and examined it in greater detail. There were some suspicious plastic surgical instruments on a table next to Erik’s chair. Directly in front of him was a large white screen and behind him he assumed the metal object he had sensed earlier was a projector. The sum of the parts made no sense to him, but he knew whatever was going to happen was not going to be good.

“You’ll understand my plan soon enough.” Wale said. “I have a lovely friend from Tunisia with the power to convince another person of whatever she wishes and to control their actions through suggestion. My original plan was to use her on you, but I wanted your actions to be your own.” He raised the vial as if in explanation. “However, I knew you would need a little convincing.”

Wale pushed up the sleeve on Erik’s right arm and felt for a vein. He inserted the tip of the syringe into the vial and raised the plunger. The liquid had a syrupy consistency and as the level of the brown substance rose, Wale’ sickening smile grew.

“This is a specialized drug created from an extremely unique tree that only grows on the Galapagos Islands. It induces states of extreme terror and anger, and renders the user extremely inclined to violence. They simply need to be pointed in the correct direction.” Wale was obviously delighted with the prospect of using it on Erik. He’d always had a penchant for cruelty.

Without further explanation, Wale raised the syringe, flicked it with his finger twice, and inserted it into Erik’ arm. Erik resisted a wince at the pinch of the needle, and then lost all concept of resisting the pain. The second the liquid entered his bloodstream he felt a burning underneath his skin. Erik could track every movement of the poison through his body as the precise and piercing pain traveled deliberately through his veins. He heard a strangled yell that very well could have come from his own mouth, but the burn had reached his chest and every thought not focused on pain slipped from his mind.

After what could have been seconds or hours, when the yells of agony had stopped ripping through his throat with frightening frequency, Erik felt a change. The pain was still there, tearing through every part of his body, but his mind seemed to grow larger, able to encompass the excruciating torture and entertain rational thought at the same time.

He found himself growing furious. This man was torturing him without telling him the reason. Erik was a god among men, he deserved respect. After another moment he became aware enough to register that there was a moving picture being projected on the screen in front of him. It was a news feed that was vaguely familiar. Erik watched for a moment before the scene in front of him registered in his memory. It was from a few years prior during a botched mission in New York City. Erik saw himself, fully outfitted as Magneto. His cape was billowing in the wind and the helmet was glinting in the sun.

A few figures bustled around him, members of the Brotherhood assisting in the attack, but it was obvious Erik was the lynchpin of the operation. He turned towards a building and raised his arms. The camera began to shake at the same time the building started to rumble. Erik looked at himself, realizing how cocky he had been. He hadn’t even been watching his back. The feed was focused entirely on Magneto, but Erik could see commotions along the edges of the shot. The Brotherhood was being routed. The building was on the verge of collapse when Erik saw himself blasted with a beam of plasma energy. Jean Grey ran towards him and used her telekinesis to keep him on the ground. They were about to restrain him and take him away when one of Erik’s men they had failed to incapacitate sprinted to his side. He was a teleporter, conveniently, and he and Erik disappeared in a puff.

Erik remembered that day vividly, and as the burning in his body made a resurgence a searing rage invaded his mind. Charles had thwarted him again, stopping him from furthering the mutant cause, _their_ cause. That simpering professor had been a thorn in his side since the early 60s. Erik yelled again, a combination of pain and anger, and he watched as the images on the screen began to shift at an increasing rate.

First, it was a picture of Charles, sitting regally in his wheelchair, posing for the picture. The picture changed to a news report detailing one of Erik’s failed attacks. After another moment a different picture of Charles appeared, on older photo of him in his youth. It changed almost immediately to newspaper headline about the Cuban missile crisis.

Soon the pictures were changing at an even quicker rate, and Erik felt his rage somehow increasing with every shift. Erik had once thought Charles would be his greatest ally, that they would change the world together. It was obvious to him now that Charles had only been out to further his own interests and systematically destroy Erik’s dream. He wanted to wrap his fingers around Charles’ neck and _squeeze_ until every wisp of air left his lungs.

Wale leaned over and whispered in his ear a series of instructions. Erik’s eyes widened as he realized Wale’s plan, but he quickly turned his mind to the thought of the torture he could inflict upon Charles to achieve Wale’s goal.

Erik had never wanted anything more than he wanted to make Charles Xavier feel the pain he had inflicted upon Erik. He roared, feeling the anger burn away the pain.

“He’s ready,” a voice said from behind him, but Erik paid it no mind. He was too busy imagining the pain he would put Charles through once he got his hands on him.

“Take him to the other cell,” the same voice said. He felt the chair beneath him move, and he was turned around to face the room’s exit. In any other situation he would have examined each and every hallway, searching for an escape route, but the rage burning through him blocked out any other thought.

After a few minutes they arrived at a plastic door identical to the entryway to Erik’s own cell. He wondered for a moment if their plan was to stoke him into a frenzy and then shut him away, driving him insane. It quickly became apparent that would not be the case. The guard opened the door and wheeled him through the doorway, bringing him face to face with Charles Xavier.


	5. Charles

Charles regained consciousness while in a jet of some sort. He was strapped in place, his wheelchair nowhere in sight. There was a band of metal wrapped around his neck and several points of pressure on his skull. He had a sinking feeling that he knew what it was, but he tried to reach out with his powers nonetheless.

Not only was he completely blocked, but the attempt delivered a sharp shock to him through the collar. It was some sort of inhibitor, built by someone with an intimate knowledge of mutations and telepathy. Charles allowed himself to admire the genius that must have gone into creating the device before moving on to the more pressing issues of the moment.

He was being taken somewhere, most likely further than a 100 mile radius outside of Westchester based on the fact that he was in a plane and not a car. The destination was probably in the continental U.S. His attacker had a distinctly American accent and the attack on Denver was most likely involved in the scheme, meaning the man and any accomplices he had must have some sort of base in the state of Colorado. That base was a possible destination, but there could be a network of lairs like the Brotherhood’s with multiple possible hideaways. He was dealing with someone extremely dangerous, and with the inhibitor on there would be no possibility of sending a message for help.

Charles would either have to find a way out on his own or hope that his team would find him. There was also a distant possibility of Erik’s people rescuing them if, as Charles assumed, Erik had been captured by the same person as he. That option was less desirable because the Brotherhood’s concept of ‘rescue’ often involved much more killing than Charles was comfortable with.

Satisfied with his deductions, Charles closed his eyes and settled deep into the confines of his own mind. It was an old tactic he had developed for himself in the late 70s. He used it to escape from the world whenever the sights, sounds, and voices in his head became too much. It was less effective than his previous, more medicinal method, but it eased his stress all the same.

After an hour or so had passed with little change, Charles felt an increase in pressure in his eardrums and light feeling in his stomach indicating the plane had begun its descent. He opened his eyes and readied himself for whatever isolation or torture he had ahead of him.

To his own resigned chagrin, he had been captured many times before. His enemies had been human and mutant, out for blood and violence. Every time it was slightly different, but tone remained constant. They all thirsted for power, and Charles often had the power they were searching for.

The plane landed lightly after approximately twenty minutes. Charles waited, anxiety blooming in his chest, for the plane to taxi and come to a complete stop. The hangar door of the plane dropped open to the ground and Charles’ attacker appeared, flanked by two armed guards, one pushing a wheelchair. Charles said nothing as they unstrapped him from the plane and manhandled him into the chair. He had learn many years ago that there wasn’t much dignity in being a crippled captive. The guard clapped cuffs around his wrists and wheeled him out of the plane.

Charles’ attacker had removed the helmet, and there was something very familiar about his dark hair and sharp eyes. He was a mutant, that much was obvious from the break in at the mansion, and Charles came into contact with all sorts of mutants in his line of work. It was very likely he had simply seen the man in passing at some conference or another.

“Welcome to my humble abode, Professor Xavier,” the man said as they entered what appeared to be a hangar of some sort.

It was a cavernous space, occupied by multiple aircrafts and personnel milling about. Half of the walls and ceiling were made out of pieces of metal bolted together, and the rest was grey stone. The hideout was most likely underground or set into a mountain or bluff of some sort. Charles thought for a moment how easy it would be for Erik to tear the entire hangar to shreds. If he was there they must have had him contained or hooked up to a similar inhibitor.

The guard pushed him through the space and into a hallway. As they traveled further away from the exit, the metal fixtures became plastic and the walls solid concrete. Charles was almost certain they had Erik contained somewhere nearby.

He was taken to a cell made of concrete and plastic and deposited on the stiff cot on the far wall. The guard left with both the chair and his partner, leaving Charles alone with the man who had captured him.

“There was no chance for us to have a proper chat back at the mansion. My name is Franklin Wale, and I’m truly sorry for all that’s had to happen to get you here. As long as they cooperate, none of the children at your school will be killed.” Charles took a deep breath as he thought about all the pain that could be inflicted on his children.

“Why not wait until I left for a conference or another engagement to take me? It seems illogical to attack one of the most heavily guarded institutions on the planet,” Charles said levelly.

Franklin quirked a smile. “It was not so well guarded when I arrived.” So he had known the X-Men would be away. The attack on Denver was undoubtedly his doing.

“Rather unfortunately for me,” Charles replied, smiling back, “and of course that helmet of yours left me rather powerless to stop you.”

“You think yourself quite smart, don’t you? Yes, we have Magneto. You could have just asked.” Franklin’s voice took on an almost teasing tone.

Charles had truly already known, but the confirmation solidified the lump in his stomach. “I was unsure how to broach the subject, Franklin. Your compound does seem suited to make sure Erik unable to escape,” he said and gestured around the room.

“You’ll see your old friend soon enough, though it won’t be on overly friendly terms, I’m afraid.” Franklin took out a syringe and vial from his pocket. “I assume you’re familiar with Cerinuplantae Iratus?”

Charles looked up in alarm. He had heard of the drug, but had never encountered someone under its hold. It had been made illegal in over twenty countries due to its unique ability to inspire violence and cruelty. Whatever Franklin planned to do with it, it would not be pleasant.

“You are going to have the rare experience of seeing it in action. Have a nice night, Professor. Tomorrow won’t be nearly as pleasant as today.” With that he turned and left the cell, sealing the door behind him.

Charles let out a shaky breath and let his head fall back to rest against the wall. He had tried to hide his fear from Franklin, but the man’s cruel smile indicated he knew exactly how scared Charles was. No one knew where he was or who had taken him. At least when it was Erik he was fighting, they knew what to expect. This was an entirely different animal.

He thought of Scott and Storm and Jean, probably still in Denver, and hoped they would soon realize something was amiss and return to save the children. Charles was in agony over how easily he had allowed someone to take him and endanger his charges. He had promised them and their parents they would be safe at the school. It burned him to break that promise, even if he had no real way of anticipating the attack. The children were probably petrified with no one to protect them.

Charles fell into an uneasy sleep after what must have been over an hour of agonizing over the students and the state they must have been in. At some point a guard entered with a tray of food and Charles choked it down, even though he had little appetite. After the meager meal he drifted slowly into unconsciousness, the cries of children haunting his dreams.

He woke with a crick in his neck and a cramp in his lower back. His eyes prickled with tears and he waited for the cramp to pass. Charles often had troubles when in an unfamiliar bed or an uncomfortable place. His prison was unfortunately both, and it was bringing back old aches and pains.

At least the temperature was bearable. He had once been captured and held in a facility in northern Alaska with a questionable heating system. The cold had brought on crippling arthritic pain in his joints. One could not escape old age, especially during a kidnapping.

A guard brought Charles a meal identical to the one from the night before. He fought back a sigh and ate the meal slowly. If he focused on chewing and swallowing hard enough he could almost forget the taste.

After the food was finished he settled in to wait, pushing up to a sitting position with his back against the wall. Without a chair his imprisonment was going to consist solely of transitioning from sitting to laying and back again. A few hours passed without incident, and Charles used the time to examine his predicament and what Franklin had revealed of his plan.

It didn’t seem as if he was going to use the Cerinuplantae Iratus on Charles, but he assumed Charles would know of the drug and its effects. Therefore, it was most likely that he was going to use it on someone and set them upon Charles. This made sense in some ways, but if under the influence of the plant, it would be very likely that whomever it was would kill Charles. It made no sense for Franklin to capture him simply to render him powerless and have him murdered. Franklin could have killed him at any point. The person under the drug could be used to torture him, but then again, why go through all the trouble of procuring the plant? Charles could think of no reason other than the attacker being somehow specific to himself. Someone with the ability to hurt him and force him into doing whatever Franklin wanted. Charles gazed down at his legs, and suddenly all the pieces fell into place.

The door opened.

Charles looked up, expecting his lunch, only to be faced with the confirmation of his recent revelation. A guard pushed Erik into the room. He was strapped down on a wheelchair of some sort and there was a wild look in his eyes. When he saw Charles he started to struggle in an attempt to break free of his bonds.

Franklin followed through the doorway with a smug smile on his face. “You will have already figured it all out for yourself, but I want to lay it out for you. Erik is going to spend some time with you, and when he’s done you are going to follows my exact orders. Any deviation will result in the execution of one of your precious students. Don’t disappoint me, Charles.”

He walked over to Erik’s chair and removed what must have been an inhibitor from his neck. Charles immediately felt the metal collar around his neck tighten incrementally.

“Release me,” Erik growled, his voice sounding unfamiliar and strange.

“Do as the man says,” Franklin called over his shoulder to the guard on his way out the door. The guard quickly removed the cuffs around Erik’s wrists and ankles and shuffled out behind his boss.

The door shut firmly behind them.


	6. Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now comes the plot. From now on I will be switching points of view, but don't worry, Charles and Erik will still have the spotlight.

Piloting the X-Jet always cleared her head, but Ororo was much too apprehensive to relax. She was no telepath, but she could tell something was off with the professor. It was obvious that he was unsure about the attack on Denver and even less sure about the subsequent video. She knew it wasn’t possible for him to be calm and collected at all times, but it always helped put her at ease.

Scott and Jean were talking quietly in the back of the jet. Ororo got the feeling that they were talking more about personal matters than the mission at hand.

“Touch down in Denver in twenty minutes,” she called out. They had examined satellite photos and picked an open rooftop near the site of the wreckage to land. Ororo flipped the switch to activate the jet’s cloaking technology and tipped the nose down slightly. She took a deep breath and forced a smile when Jean strapped into the seat next to hers. Scott sat behind Jean and stared straight ahead.

“You alright?” Jean asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

“I’ll be just fine as soon as this mission is over and we are safe at home.” Jean nodded in agreement. This mission didn’t sit quite right with her, either.

Soon enough they touched down on the designated roof and powered down the jet without being detected. The cloaking would have to remain on during the duration of their stay, so they couldn’t be in the city for longer than five days. After that the cloaking would fail and the jet would be unable to take off. The time crunch added another level to Ororo’s worry. Hopefully everything would go according to plan.

“Alright,” Scott said once they had exited the jet, “We split up. Storm, you head to the scene of the crime and try and dig up any evidence. Jean, you’re with me. We’ll go to the police station and discover the type of bomb and find out what kind of leads they have.” They had discussed this plan in detail at the mansion, but Scott liked to make sure everyone was clear before starting.

“Let’s get this over with,” Ororo said. Scott and Jean smiled at her and turned away. She held out her arms and felt her power swell inside her chest. The wind rushed around her and lifted her off the ground. Long ago Ororo had trouble with fine control, but it had become second nature to her. She maintained her path towards the explosion site while conjuring a fog to cover her.

It was a thankfully cloudy day, so the sudden fog wouldn’t inspire too much confusion. The destruction was a short flight away, and Ororo touched down near the shell of a building and dissolved the fog with a wave of her arm.

The news feed had left Ororo feeling sad and slightly nauseated, but seeing the damage up close was an entirely different story. Buildings had completely collapsed in on themselves and the streets were ripped into rubble. It was unlike any other explosion Ororo had ever seen. There were occasional scorch marks, but she remembered from the news that the fires had started after the explosion. The more she looked around, the more it looked like there had been no explosion at all.

Any sort of bomb could have decimated the block, but the wreckage was more characteristic of an earthquake. However, earthquakes only affected much larger ranges than a single city block. It had obviously been a planned attack, but by whom and _how_ were still a mystery.

Ororo searched through multiple buildings and part of the street for an origin point to no avail. The damage was uniform throughout except for two slight anomalies. A building on the far east edge of the block was slightly less affected than all the others. She headed in the opposite direction and found that there was an almost undetectable difference in the amount of destruction. The western edge of the block had been completely decimated. Even though it was the only possible place for the destruction to originate from, there were no scorch marks or blast residue. The building looked like they had simply fallen of its own accord.

Ororo gathered some rocks into a bag and tucked them away to be analyzed. She had a sinking feeling that they wouldn’t find anything. After taking one last look at the wreckage, allowing a moment to think on all the life lost, she bent the wind to her will and flew back towards the X-Jet.

Jean and Scott were most likely still at the police department, but they had agreed to meet back up where they had touched down once their respective searches were done. Ororo decided to take a moment for herself before returning to work. She stretched her arms to the side and flew higher, up past the clouds.

When she was young the Professor had taught her to harness her powers, and he had hypothesized that she could create a wind shield around her mouth and nose, providing indefinite oxygen at any altitude. After months of practice Ororo had succeeded in creating a secure barrier and she flew up past a 747. It had been the best day of her life.

Now she could fly at any height with ease and even breath underwater for a certain amount of time. Flying the X-Jet was both exhilarating and calming, but it was nothing compared to the feeling of the wind whipping through her hair a thousand feet off the ground.

Ororo flew, lost in her thoughts and happy memories, and then something hit her like a freight train.

She lost control and fell rapidly, gasping for air. Whatever had struck her was holding her arms to her sides in an attempt to control her. Ororo curled up her lip and renewed her focus, conjuring up a storm cloud. She directed a bolt of lightning through herself and her attacker, causing them to let go.

Ororo allowed herself to shoot towards the ground quickly for another moment, pulling up and landing softly on her feet. Another person hit the ground almost immediately after, landing much less gracefully. They recovered quickly and stood to face Ororo.

She knew immediately they were a mutant, if the flying wasn’t as obvious enough indicator, their wings definitely were. It was a woman with light brown skin and shockingly red eyes.

“Who are you?” Ororo asked in a low voice. They had crashed on a seemingly empty street, but one never knew who was listening. The other mutant hissed at her.

“I am called Ptera, and I’m here to kill you,” she replied with a thick accent.

_No small talk then,_ Ororo thought, summoning a small tornado and sending it at Ptera. She leapt out of the way and shot a small dart at Ororo out of her hand. It grazed Ororo’s side as she tried to dodge and she realized immediately that it was poison. A dull ache started to spread across her abdomen. She sensed that she had minutes before losing consciousness and subsequently her life, so she did what every inch of her was rejecting and retreated.

Ptera screeched as Ororo took to the sky and used the winds to propel herself towards the jet. In her injured state the other mutant was bound to catch her, so she used the last of her strength to create a thick fog. It was simple to change direction and lose her attacker, soon reaching the jet and collapsing onto the roof. The poison was taking its toll, and she barely made it into the jet before it rendered her immobile.

There was no one else there and she hoped against hope that Scott and Jean hadn’t been attacked in the same fashion. She slumped onto the floor and lost consciousness, unable to close the hangar door.

When she woke up Scott and Jean were kneeling beside her, both looking significantly worse for wear. Jean’s hair was singed and her clothes were tattered. Scott had a large cut on his face and from his pained expression Ororo could tell he had other injuries, as well.

“Storm! What happened?” Jean asked.

Ororo coughed and sat up, shaking the heaviness out of her head. She had bruised her hip in her bungled landing, but the poison didn’t seem to have any lasting effects. “I was attacked by a mutant. She took me out of the sky. She said she had been sent to kill me and for her to find me in the sky she must have known exactly where I would be. Someone is plotting against us.”

“We had a similar experience,” Scott said as he helped her to her feet. “Two mutants we had never seen before attacked us after we left the precinct. We barely escaped to the jet. The doors were open and you were on the floor, so we thought maybe you had escaped from an attack as well.” He winced and brought a hand up to the wound on his face.

“Let me dress that, Scott,” Jean grabbed the first aid kit and started dabbing antiseptic on the cut. He remained still as she covered it with gauze and taped down a bandage. “Were you able to get any signal out before you lost consciousness, Ororo?” Jean asked once she had finished.

“No. I barely made it into the jet.” Ororo walked over to the cockpit of the plane. “Have either of you?”

“We were too busy worrying about you,” Jean said with a smile. “The Professor will want to know all about this.”

Ororo pressed a button on the console, sending out a signal to the mansion. After a minute with no answer she sent it again, anxiety rising in her throat. “No answer.” She turned to look at Scott and Jean.

“Something tells me these attacks weren’t just meant to eliminate us,” Scott said.

“They were trying to distract us.” Jean finished his thought. “We have to get back to the mansion. Now.”

Ororo wasted no time strapping into her seat and powering up the plane, lifting off in a minute flat. They were in the air and flying at top speed towards Westchester when the radio crackled to life. Jean jumped in her seat but then leaned in.

“Professor?” she said, worry obvious in her tone.

A man’s voice that was most definitely not the Professor replied, “I’m going to assume since you have returned to the jet and attempted contact that my people were unable to stop you. Well, I will admit this, you three are good.”

“Who are you and where is the Professor?” Scott shouted at the transmitter.

“No need to get testy,” the voice said, “I’m simply here to relay some information. Charles Xavier is currently in my custody, and will be for the foreseeable future. At least, until he is of no more use to me. You will understand soon enough what I mean. Until that time I am going to request you stay away from that school of yours.”

“Not a chance,” Jean practically growled back.

“You see, I said ‘request’ in an effort to be civil. My men have infiltrated and secured the school. If you attempt to approach, land, or enter the mansion, they will kill one child every five minutes until you have retreated.” The man sounded disgustingly smug. Jean and Ororo gasped and Scott slammed a fist into the side of the jet.

“What do you want?” Ororo whispered, fully willing to do anything to protect the children.

“Only for you to stay out of my way.” The transmission ended before any of them could respond. After a few moments of silence Scott let out a resigned breath.

“Storm, touch down somewhere in New York. Stay at least five miles outside the mansion. We are going to have to find some way to save them, but probably not tonight,” he said, obviously gritting his teeth at the idea of sitting back while the students were in danger.

Ororo did as he directed, and none of them spoke a word for the rest of the night, all falling into a short and restless sleep.


	7. Rogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some violence and death of a young character in this chapter.

The professor was gone when she woke up. Bobby was still lying next to her, but the man must have taken the professor and left.

Rogue slowly sat up, wincing at the aching pain in her head. She probably had a slight concussion and a considerable amount of bruises, but she didn’t think there was any serious damage.

Bobby, on the other hand, was definitely hurt. His leg was twisted in the wrong direction and his head was bleeding. Rogue struggled to her feet and walked over to him, gasping at the soreness in her legs and torso.

She knelt down next to Bobby and placed a gloved hand lightly on his forehead, smoothing his hair back.

“Bobby,” she whispered, praying he would be alright. He didn’t respond. She shook him lightly and said his name again. It took a few moments, but eventually he groaned loudly and opened his eyes. “Bobby!” Rogue said happily. She smiled at him and Bobby smiled back, still slightly dazed. His smile quickly turned into a grimace when he attempted to move.

“Rogue, my leg hurts.” He tried to look down, but he couldn’t lift his head higher than a few inches.

“I think it’s broken. We’re going to have to get you to the infirmary,” Rogue said, gauging how far it was from the room they were currently in.

“Get Pete,” Bobby said, “He can carry me.” Rogue nodded and stood. “Rogue?” Bobby said, his voice sounding strained. “Where’s the professor?”

Rogue sighed and looked at the hole in the wall. “He took him,” she said.

“Hurry,” Bobby whispered, worry obvious in his tone. Rogue took off down the hallway.

It took her a few minutes to travel through the mansion down the elevator to the lower level which was crowded with terrified children. She found Peter quickly, he was comforting a crying girl and glancing around the room as if expecting someone to attack at any moment.

“Rogue,” he said once he spotted her, “What’s going on?” We heard the professor in our heads telling us to run, but there’s nowhere for us to go. I told everyone to stay down here where it’s safe.” The children were looking up at the two of them with questioning eyes. Rogue realized that without the teachers or the professor there, Bobby, Pete, Kitty, and herself were the closest thing to adults in the school.

She leaned in and spoke quietly so the children couldn’t hear. “Someone’s attacked the mansion and taken the professor. Bobby and I tried to help but the guy was a powerful mutant. I need you to carry Bobby down here. He broke his leg.”

Peter nodded without question and stood. “Kitty,” he said, looking over to where she was comforting another anxious child. “Look after the kids. We’ll be back soon.”

Kitty nodded and Rogue and Peter calmly walked to the elevator and took it up to the first level. They set out at a brisk pace with Rogue leading the way.

They stopped in their tracks at the sound of heavy boots in the hallways. Someone was in the mansion, and Rogue had a sinking feeling that they weren’t going to be friendly. “Bobby,” she said worriedly, breaking into a run with Peter at her heels. They made it to the room without seeing anyone and Peter stopped in his tracks when he saw the amount of destruction.

“Get Bobby!” Rogue yelled at him, startling him out of his thoughts. He bent down and put his arms under Bobby, trying not to jostle him.

“Ahh!” Bobby yelled out in pain.

“This is going to hurt,” Peter told him, “but we need to go.” Bobby nodded, tears in his eyes, letting out another cry of pain as Peter lifted him up off the ground.

“We need to get to the infirmary,” Rogue said, looking at the hallway as the sound of footsteps came closer. Peter led the way this time, moving as quickly as possible with Bobby in his arms. They made it halfway through the mansion before three figures in military gear stopped them in their tracks.

“We found some,” one of them said into a radio on his shoulder.

A reply came immediately through the radio, “Ask them where the rest are.”

Peter and Rogue turned to run as the men advanced on them, but there were two more coming from the other direction. The one who had spoken approached them slowly. Rogue knew she couldn’t take all of them down, and Peter was fairly useless while carrying Bobby.

“Where can I find the other children,” the man asked in a menacing voice.

“What other children?” Rogue asked, feigning innocence.

The man reached out a hand and grabbed Bobby’s bad leg, causing Bobby to cry out. “I’m not going to ask again,” the man said as he twisted Bobby’s leg. Peter knew that pulling away would only hurt Bobby more, but there was nothing else he could do. He took three quick steps back, wrenching Bobby from the man’s grip.

Bobby moaned and tried not to move. The man tilted his head to the side, and then he moved with frightening speed, punching Bobby’s leg at the place it was bent the wrong way. Bobby let out a bloodcurdling screech and Rogue tried to reach out to him only to be held back by the other men.

The man pulled back his hand to hit Bobby again and Rogue screamed. “Downstairs! The kids are all downstairs. Please don’t hurt him.” The man lowered his fist.

“Show me where this downstairs is and I won’t hurt anybody,” he replied.

Rogue found him extremely hard to believe, but she had no choice. Bobby was turning a concerning shade of grey and the men were bound to find the sublevel eventually, whether they were told about it or not. She led them through the halls to the hidden elevator and entered it with Peter carrying Bobby, the man who was apparently the leader, and two of the others. They stood in silence only punctuated by Bobby’s rough breathing.

The door opened and the children right in front of it scooted back from the big boots of the men. Rogue felt her stomach clench as the kids’ eyes widened in terror. If those men hurt any of them she wouldn’t hesitate to grab them by the throat and suck every last drop of life out of their body. She felt sudden hatred well up inside of her. These men had no right coming into their home and holding them captive.

Kitty moved to stand, putting the children nearby behind her to protect them with her body. She was just as ready to fight for them as Rogue. They locked eyes and Rogue looked around the room, registering that she was surrounded by dozens of mutants, and there were only three aggressors in the basement.

She dropped back next to Peter as smoothly as possible. “Set Bobby down. On my mark, we fight,” Rogue whispered. Peter nodded and walked a few feet away and placed Bobby gently on the floor where he could lean against a wall.

Kitty shuffled a few more children behind her and slowly changed her stance so she was facing the nearest guard.

“Alright, I’m going to tell you how this is going to go,” the leader said as he stopped in the center of the hall.

“Now!” Rogue yelled and ran at the nearest guard. He recovered from his surprise and dodged her, grabbing her into a chokehold. The man started to squeeze on her windpipe, but Rogue saw that in taking hold of her he had bared the skin of his forearm. She pressed her cheek against it and felt a surge of energy as his grip loosened. Rogue tore off her glove and grabbed his wrist with her bare hand until she was sure he was unconscious before letting go.

She turned around in time to see Peter throw the leader into a wall. Kitty had sunk the third into the floor up to his neck and was standing a few feet away from the fight still going on, ready to jump in and help.

The leader stood, but instead of resuming his fight with Peter he ran the other direction and grabbed a boy who hadn’t gotten out of the way fast enough.

“Big mistake, kids, because this is how this is going to go.” Without hesitation he took his gun out of its holster, pressed the gun to the boy’s head, and pulled the trigger.

There was a beat of silence before Kitty screamed.

The man let the body drop onto the floor and stood up straight. “You see, I don’t give a shit if none of you brats make it out of this basement. I’m under orders to kill as many as necessary, and more if those blasted teachers of yours come back or if your dear old professor doesn’t cooperate. You can use your flashy powers as much as you want, but it will only result in one more death on your conscience.”

Rogue barely registered his words as she stared at the boy’s body. His name was Will, and he was a runaway. He had no family to care about him being gone, no one to remember him except his classmates. Rogue choked back a sob at how little of a difference it would make in the world if all of them ended up like Will. There would be very few people mourning a few dead mutants.

“Now,” the man continued, “If you would release my men I would be very grateful.” He smiled in a predatory fashion. Kitty hesitated for a moment, glaring at the murderer, before bending down and raising the man out of the floor.

“Thank you. You,” he said, pointing at Peter, “will carry him,” he pointed to the guard still unconscious on the floor, “back upstairs.” Peter did as he was told, looking shell shocked and scared. The three men headed for the elevator and Rogue watched them intently, praying they wouldn’t hurt anyone else.

“One more thing,” the man said, turning to stare at Rogue, “You are coming with me.”

She stood frozen for a moment, but the sight of Will’s body on the floor jolted her back to reality. There was no point in resisting; they would only hurt someone else. She walked over and kept her mouth shut as the man wrenched her arms behind her back and bound her hands together.

The second elevator ride was much quieter than the first, and Rogue fought back the tears of grief and pain that threatened behind her eyes. Once they were out in the hallway Peter set the guard down on the floor.

“Go back downstairs,” the man told him. Peter looked at Rogue with a lost look in his eyes before he shuffled into the elevator to go back to the children.

Rogue had never felt more alone. Not when she was running from home or hitchhiking in Alaska or strapped to the top of the Statue of Liberty.

“My name is Grant Despot. I’m telling you this so you remember my name as someone to fear,” the man approached Rogue and grabbed her roughly by the arm. “You get special treatment for the little stunt you pulled back there.”

Rogue fought back a scream as he pulled her into a different room. It was one she had never been in before and it was bare except for a single wooden chair. The intruders must have cleared it out while they were in the basement.

Despot dragged her over to the chair and attached her hands to the back of it. He then tied her ankles to the chair legs. He straightened up and looked down his nose at her, his expression a mixture of anger and revulsion.

Rogue waited for him to make a move, but for the longest time he stood in front of her without speaking. There was something calculating in his expression, and Rogue’s anxiety grew.

“You disgust me,” Despot said, a sneer on his face. Then he punched Rogue in the stomach.

She gasped and lurched forward, pulling on her bindings. The blow made her see stars. Before she had recovered he hit her again, this time slamming his fist against side of her head. The room went fuzzy around the edges and every part of her head was screaming in pain. Despot landed one more blow, and everything went black.


	8. Charles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some torture in this chapter.

“Erik?” Charles asked, hoping to reason with the man in front of him.

“Good to see you, Charles,” he replied, mocking dripping from every syllable. Erik moved like a predator stalking his prey, slowly approaching where Charles was sitting on the bed.

“Whatever he has done to you, I need you to fight it.” Erik stopped his pacing and glared at Charles. “Erik, you are not yourself.”

“On the contrary, Charles, I am completely in control. All Wale has done to me is open my eyes to the truth, and I couldn’t be more thankful. He showed me that all this time I could have achieved my dream for mutants if not for one man always standing in my way: you.” The collar tightened and Charles struggled to breathe.

“Don’t do this, old friend,” Charles said, struggling to get the words out. Erik laughed without humor.

“Do not mock me with your words. You were never my friend.” Erik turned and used his power to separate a piece of metal from the chair he had been strapped to and shape it into a wickedly sharp blade. He smiled maniacally and floated the knife slowly and deliberately towards Charles’ face. “I usually access pressure points on the bottoms of the feet for torture purposes, but obviously that would be useless on you.” The words bit a little, and Charles tried to ignore the anger that welled up inside him.

The blade touched his neck just above the collar and Charles gasped at how cold it was. He grunted in pain when it broke the skin, trying as hard as he could not to cry out. Erik traced an excruciatingly slow line of fire across the side of his neck, and Charles felt the warm trickle of blood roll down his skin and underneath the collar.

“As much as I would love to kill you right now, I have another purpose. If I don’t get what Wale wants from you, he’ll hook me back up to that damned inhibitor and torture me until my heart eventually gives out. However he didn’t say I couldn’t have my fun first.” The cruel fascination warped Erik’s face into something practically unrecognizable. Charles found himself absolutely terrified of the man he had never been scared of, not when they had first met, not that day on that beach, and not any of the times they had met on a battlefield over the years. 

Erik flicked the blade down to Charles’ arm with blinding speed and Charles couldn’t stop the shout from tearing out of his throat when Erik dragged the knife across his forearm.

“You are going to do exactly as I say, or your precious children will die, and you and I will be spending some quality time together for the next few weeks, or months, or years. However long it takes,” Erik twisted the blade in the crook of Charles’ arm to make his point.

“Erik,” Charles panted, running out of strength and resolve, “You don’t have to do this.”

Erik gazed at him coldly before responding. “I know,” he said, “I want to do this.”

Charles shouted out again as the blade drew blood near his collarbone. “Here is what you’re going to do,” Erik continued. “In one week, the president of the United States and a number of other government officials will be at a conference in Denver to discuss and speak about the terrorist attack. They will then return to Washington, where a meeting of world leaders has been organized to discuss the ‘mutant problem.’” Erik spit out the words as if they burned his throat to utter them. The knife floated lazily to Charles untouched arm and lightly pricked his shoulder. As Erik continued to speak the blade traced a bloody line down his arm. 

“You are going to be taken to Denver and placed in proximity to the conference. Wale and his men will be monitoring you, and if you try anything, your students will suffer the consequences. You will enter the President’s mind and convince him that the terrorist attack was not orchestrated by the Brotherhood, but by the Chinese government. The other officials will believe that the Iranians are responsible. By the time they return to the capital, they will have already made the decision to start a war with both countries.” Erik stopped the blade where it was currently slicing Charles’ bicep and eyed him critically.

Charles allowed himself a moment to consider Wale’s plan. It was obvious he was going for maximum chaos, but why this was his goal was a mystery. Charles knew he had the ability to do what Erik was asking, and that he would do anything to protect the children. He was going to have to find a way out of this without putting them in danger.

“What of the conference concerning mutants?” Charles asked, his voice rough and strained. Erik visibly stiffened and he raised the knife once more.

“You are going to set the world leaders against each other, and they are going to completely forget the meeting was supposed to be about mutants in the first place.” Erik probably approved of this part of the plan.

“There are other ways to make this world safe for mutants,” Charles said.

The knife neared his neck once again. “No other ways have worked.” Charles could tell his rage was seething just under the surface.

“We could have made it work together.”

Erik stilled and the blade paused in its path towards Charles throat. Charles realized he had found a weak spot in what the drug had done to Erik.

“Neither of our philosophies have truly worked out. Together, though, together we could accomplish anything.” The knife dropped and Erik clutched his head with his hands. “Don’t you remember, Erik, what we achieved together? Two of the world’s most powerful mutants against the world and we won.” Charles’ voice grew stronger.

“Stop!” Erik yelled. His face was contorted in pain and rage and Charles knew that the real Erik was battling with the drug. It was impossible to tell which was winning.

“Didn’t you ever think about what it would have been like had you stayed? If you had never became Magneto? We could have built the school together and taken on the government. Instead of fighting each other we could have changed the world.” Charles let it all out, all of his secret thoughts that had plagued him constantly for fifty years. He knew he and Erik could have made a real difference if they had not fallen apart.

“Charles,” Erik said in a strangled voice. He fell to his knees and let out a scream. Charles hoped that anyone listening would assume it came from him and stay out of the cell.

“I never wanted to fight you, my friend. All I ever wanted was for you to come home. To come back to me.” Charles put as much feeling as he could muster into his words. Erik fell to the ground and convulsed uncontrollably. The war being waged inside his mind was taking its toll on his body, and Charles wished Erik was enough in his right mind to remove the bloody inhibitor so he could help. All he could do was watch and hope that his Erik was winning.

The chair shuddered and collapsed in on itself, the metal twisting and bending in response to Erik’s pain. It started to fly apart and Charles tried to dodge the chunks of metal flying around the room. Erik would probably kill him on accident before he recovered from his fit, Charles thought ruefully as the twisted remains of a wheel barely missed his head.

Erik’s convulsions were slowing, but the shrapnel in the room was circling around him at an alarming rate. The turmoil inside his mind was threatening to rip them both apart. Charles thought briefly that it had been a mistake to try and recover Erik. There was a chance that he could die or suffer extreme brain damage in the aftermath of the drug and its hold over him.

There was no stopping it now, and Charles waited apprehensively as the metal in the room slowly floated down to the floor and Erik completely stilled. He was pale as death itself and terror clutched Charles for a moment before Erik groaned quietly.

With the measured movements of someone recovering from a bad injury he raised himself into a sitting position. He stayed like that, holding his head in a much gentler manner than before, until he remembered he wasn’t alone in the room. 

“Charles?” he said unsurely, his voice rough.

“Yes, Erik?” Charles replied, trying to keep his voice level. Erik looked up at him and his eyes widened.

“Old friend, I’m so sorry.” Erik stood and walked over to Charles, hands outstretched in a helpless gesture.

“It’s alright. Unfortunately, we have bigger problems at the moment.” Charles felt a spark of hope. With Erik on his side he had a chance of getting out of there.

“You’re right,” Erik said, “What’s the plan?”


	9. Erik

He had never felt such exquisite pleasure than that of torturing Charles Xavier. The pure thrill of it rushed through his mind and rang in his ears. It had all been going swimmingly, then Charles said something to give him pause.

“We could have made it work together,” Charles said, still maddeningly calm even when covered in his own blood.

Erik’s mind stuttered for a moment and all of the sudden torturing Charles didn’t seem as appealing. Erik shook his head and focused on his rage, recovering from the indiscretion. He was about to press the blade back to Charles’ skin when that infernal man spoke again.

“Neither of our philosophies have truly worked out. Together, though, together we could accomplish anything.” Erik registered the knife falling to the floor in some part of his brain. He pressed his hands to his skull and pain flared up at his temples. “Don’t you remember, Erik, what we achieved together? Two of the world’s most powerful mutants against the world and we won.” 

Memories flooded unbidden into Erik’s mind. He usually would have accused Charles of putting them there, but the collar around his neck made that impossible. The pain increased as he remembered flashes: warm water in Miami and arms around his neck, dancing women and Charles on a big, red bed, a chess game and cold stone steps, a twisted bullet in his palm, a broken Charles in his lap.

At the edge of his consciousness Erik registered Charles speaking, and he yelled out through the pain, “Charles!” as he fell to the floor.

“I never wanted to fight you, my friend. All I ever wanted was for you to come home. To come back to me.” The words pierced through Erik’s agony and he felt a moment of clarity, but the pains came back like the rising tide and washed all other thoughts from his mind.

He felt out of control in a way he hadn’t felt since his twenties. It was terrifying and unpredictable, and it was all he could do to keep the metal from the chair from flying into the walls and door and breaking the entire room down. The memories flicking through his mind were appearing and disappearing at a rapid rate. After a moment Erik stopped registering visuals or sounds and only felt brief flares of emotion before the next thought took hold.

Erik’s vision went red and the roaring in his ears masked any other sound in the room. He felt as if someone had pushed a lance through his brain and twisted. It was unlike any other pain he had ever experienced. It flared and expanded, taking up every part of his awareness, before disappearing in a single moment.

Everything was still and silent. The ringing in his ears subsided and he realized he couldn’t see because his eyes were closed, not because he was blinded by pain. He attempted to move his head and groaned. The immediate pain was gone, but every part of his body felt sore. It was like he had been hit by a truck.

Slowly and carefully, trying not to cause unnecessary pain, Erik sat up. He held his head in his hands for a moment and steadied himself. The roaring pain and rage were gone, and Erik remembered after a moment who he had to thank for that.

“Charles?” he looked up at the bed, afraid of what he was going to see.

“Yes, Erik?” Charles always sounded so damn calm, but he was obviously in pain. Erik resisted the urge to send a piece of shrapnel into his own leg as he took in the damage. There was blood congealing on Charles’ neck on and around the collar. The wounds on his arms were still bleeding and from the way he held himself Erik could tell they were still causing him pain.

Erik stood, ignoring the protests of his body, and closed the gap between them. “Old friend, I’m so sorry.” Erik knew it wasn’t nearly enough, but it needed to be said. Charles made a slight movement with his hand as if he were trying to sweep away Erik’s shame.

“It’s alright,” he said, even though it was anything but, “Unfortunately, we have bigger problems at the moment.” Only Erik’s pride was keeping him from getting down on his knees and begging for forgiveness, but he understood the necessity of waiting for heartfelt apologies. Wale needed to be stopped.

“You’re right. What’s the plan?” he knew Charles had probably formulated at least twenty escape plans by the time he had been in the compound for an hour. In the time since he would have refined each one, weighed the pros and cons, and settled on a final decision.

“We can’t escape,” Charles said, and Erik looked at him incredulously. “We must stop Wale, and he must still think you are under his power and I am bent to his will.”

Erik understood the logic of the plan, but it still worried him. “You know it’s very possible they will give me more of the drug and send me in here to torture you again. What if next time you can’t snap me out of it? This could be our only chance.”

Charles had obviously already considered this, “That I am not worried about, old friend. We have much too much history to be stopped by a simple drug.”

“But still. I have metal at my disposal, I can remove your inhibitor and we could take this facility apart with the slightest effort. Why not finish off Wale and his operation while we can?” Erik felt a familiar rage rise up in his chest. He wanted to see the look in Wale’s eyes as Erik drove a piece of metal through his chest.

“They have my children,” Charles’ voice had dropped almost to a whisper. Erik sighed and sat down on the cot next to Charles. Even though he wanted desperately to escape and damn the consequences, Charles would never endanger his students, and Erik wasn’t overly eager to risk the lives of dozens of young mutants.

“So, what do you propose?” Erik asked. Charles always had some sort of mad plan.

“Continue as if this never happened. Exit this room and make sure everyone believes I agreed to start this war. I will do the same. Once we are in Denver and Franklin removes the inhibitor I will find a way to contact my team. They will take back the mansion while we escape from our captors. After the mansion is secure Storm will come and pick us up in the X-Jet.” Charles seemed reasonably confident in his plan, but Erik was not as sure.

“Much of this plan revolves around your team being able to defeat whoever Wale has guarding the school. If they fail, your children will die and we will be stranded in an unfamiliar city, surrounded by hostile humans.” Erik was weighing the benefits of breaking out of the facility on his own when Charles spoke again.

“My friend, you know better than anyone how capable the X-Men are.” Erik made a noncommittal noise and crossed his arms at the teasing. “I have absolute faith in them. Also, Denver is not entirely unknown to us.”

“Have you been taking vacations to the Mile High City, Charles?” Erik said lightly.

“Do you truly not remember?” Charles’ tone had shifted from teasing to earnest.

His words brought old memories to the surface of Erik’s mind. It was from a time he had not thought of in so long it was hard to imagine they were his own experiences and not someone else’s. Erik remembered meeting with a mutant in a low brow Denver diner. The mutant was too scared of exposure to come with them, and Charles and Erik had left with the third ‘no’ in two weeks. Instead of going back to their motel room they had walked to a bar for drinks. The constant disappointment was weighing on both of them, and the haze of alcohol brought much-needed relief.

“I hardly think a few days spent wandering aimlessly and drinking irresponsibly fifty years ago qualifies us to traverse the city.” Erik glanced over at Charles to see a smile on his face.

“So you do remember,” he said softly.

“How could I forget?” Erik replied. During those few days in Denver Erik almost forgot about his true mission. Charles was splendid company, and they had spent the days debating politics, discussing the width and breadth of mutant abilities, and telling stories. Erik had few stories to tell, but he remembered listening intently to Charles rhapsodize about college and his childhood with Raven. Charles listened just as closely in turn when Erik shared a rare fact about himself, a story about his mother or early childhood.

It was in that city that Erik had realized that if there was even a minuscule possibility of a life after his showdown with Shaw, he wanted Charles Xavier to be a part of it. Erik chuckled ruefully at how that wish had come true in a way he never would have predicted.

“It was some of the best days of my life,” Charles murmured. Erik looked into Charles’ eyes and saw only achingly painful honesty. He felt a pang of guilt at how he had shut those memories away. Erik had decided long ago that it did no good to dwell on the past.

“Charles, when we get out of here-” Erik was cut off by the sound of movement from the hallway.

“Raise the knife and find something, anything, to make you angry.” Charles’ tone was businesslike, but Erik thought he detected a note of disappointment. Erik did as Charles said and moved the blade from the floor back to Charles’ neck, exactly where it had been mere minutes before. Charles still looked convincingly bloody, and Erik was grateful he didn’t have to hurt Charles again to keep up the charade.

“Remember, anger.” Charles said in a hushed tone before the door opened.

Erik found it quite easy to access his rage. He only had to think of his treatment at the hand of Wale and how he had been forced to harm one of the few people in the world he held in high regard. The fire in his belly had been sufficiently stoked by the time Wale and his men walked in.

“That’s enough, Magneto,” Wale said, and Erik made sure to hesitate convincingly before letting the knife drop. “How has the Professor behaved?”

Erik ground his teeth together and hoped Wale would take the rage in his voice as a lingering effect of the drug. “He’ll do it.” Charles was doing a fantastic job looking dejected and broken. The sight made something unfamiliar clench in Erik’s chest.

“Really, boys?” Wale said. “You’re going to have to do much better than that.”

Erik froze.

“I knew it was a distinct possibility your ‘old friend’ would be able to override the effects of Cerinuplantae Iratus. Few people have connections strong enough to break through the rage. If you weren’t locked up in here I would expect the happy announcement with  
in a week.” Wale laughed at his own joke. “We’ll simply have to try a higher dose next time.”  
Erik saw the flash of fear in Charles’ eyes before Wale pressed the inhibitor to his skin and one of the guards cuffed his hands behind his back.

The march back to his cell was long, and Erik felt mounting anxiety at the thought of the pain he had just endured, and how much worse it was going to get. As he laid down on his own cot in a room identical to the one he had left, he hoped against all common sense that Charles would be able to snap him out of it another time, and fell into a restless sleep.


	10. Jean

Scott’s pacing was starting to grate on her nerves, even though Jean wanted to do the exact same thing.

Storm had landed the jet in a field in Westchester, five miles from the school and at least eight miles from anything else. No one was going to stumble upon them out there.

“Scott, I will not hesitate to electrocute you,” Storm said from her seat. She had been filing her nails for the last hour. Scott paused mid-step and glared at her.

“If I don’t pace, I’m going to go outside and vaporize the New York countryside.” There was no hint of joking in his voice. Jean knew that if he weren’t so concerned with keeping a low profile he would have released enough plasma to level a building by then.

“What are we going to do?” Jean said, more to herself than the other two inhabitants of the jet. The children were the most important thing, and they were not only powerless to help them, but any attempt to do so would endanger their lives. It didn’t help that the Professor had been captured and taken to places unknown. He was always the best at developing plans to get out of the sort of sticky situations they had found themselves in over the years.

A ghost of a smile touched Jean’s lips as she thought back on her time as an X-Man (X-Woman, a voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like Storm whispered.) The school had truly become her home, and the professor, Scott, Ororo, and the students; they had become her family. She was not about to lose all of that without a fight.

“I say we wait twenty-four hours to see if the professor makes contact. If we get no word, we take back the school,” Scott obviously didn’t want to wait that long, but he knew they couldn’t enter the mansion, guns blazing, without at least the outline of a plan.

“Agreed,” Storm said.

“How do you propose we attack the school without being discovered an endangering the children?” Jean asked Scott. He looked at her silently for a moment before responding in a measured tone.

“We know the mansion better than anyone, save the professor, and whoever is holding it will only have surface knowledge at best. The likelihood of them knowing about the secret passages in and out of the corridors is almost nothing. We can take the drainage tunnel up into the wall panel in the East Wing and take them by surprise.” Jean smiled, her thoughts had been running along the same lines.

“It’s not a guarantee,” she conceded, “but it’s the best we’ve got.” Scott nodded and sat down, content in being still for at least a short while. Jean walked over and was about to sit down next to him when something on the control panel started to beep. Jean whipped her head around to Storm. “What is that?”

Storm was already on her way to the front of the plane and it only took her a split second to identify the beeping. “It’s the radar, there’s something, or someone, coming straight for us.”

Scott leapt to his feet and practically yelled, “Take off!” Storm turned back to the controls, but just as she was about to raise the jet into the air every light went out and all noise ceased. The plane was still and silent.

Storm slammed a hand against the console, “They must have hit us with some sort of EMP!” It was obvious that the jet wasn’t going anywhere, and neither were they. 

Scott opened his mouth to give another order when there was a noise outside the jet. They waited silently until it happened again, and they all glanced at each other at the unmistakable knock at the hangar door. Storm’s jaw dropped and Scott got a slightly panicked look in his eyes.

“I guess we should open up,” Jean said, not seeing any other options.

“Are you crazy?” Scott said, “It could be anyone out there!”

“And if we don’t open the door they’ll probably force their way in. I don’t know about you, but I like it when our jet is not in pieces,” she shot back. Storm nodded in agreement.

“Fine,” Scott replied in a clipped tone. Storm pulled the lever that manually lowered the ramp and waited anxiously for their company to enter the jet.

To all of their surprise, a familiar blue form sauntered up the ramp followed by two other mutants. Jean was the first to recover.

“Mystique,” she said, both as a greeting and a warning.

“Well look at this, it’s the Three Musketeers,” she said with a mocking smile. Scott took a step forward, visibly bristling at her tone.

“Why are you here?” he demanded, making no effort to keep the distain from his voice. Mystique smiled at him angelically, a flash of white against blue, before responding.

“As much as I would love to roundhouse kick you all into next week, I didn’t come here to fight.” Scott stayed in a defensive position, Storm and Jean doing the same. There was too much history there for them to trust her on her word. “I know your senses of justice and righteous indignation must be tingling right now, but I’m not lying. It has come to my attention that we all have more pressing concerns than fighting each other at the moment.”

“Why should we believe you,” Scott said, “when you took responsibility for the attack on Denver?”

Mystique rolled her eyes. “We both know the Brotherhood had nothing to do with that. Not our style at all.” One of her companions let out a low chuckle. He was a slight man with sickly looking scales and eyes like a cat’s. The other was a woman, easily the tallest person on the jet, but she had no other physical indications of her mutation. Both were giving no signs of having come to the jet to attack.

“But why have you come here? And how did you find us in the first place?” Storm said, sounding exasperated. 

“You know exactly why I’m here, Drizzle,” Storm frowned, but kept silent, “Magneto has been compromised, as has your precious professor.” It was obvious that Mystique was hesitant to divulge any information. “We have reason to believe they have been taken by the same person.”

Jean took a moment to worry. If this person was powerful enough to overpower the professor and Magneto, what couldn’t they do? “What makes you so sure the same person is behind this?” she asked, hoping to glean some actual information.

“Two of the world’s most powerful mutants captured within days of each other while their respective guards are absent, does that sound like a coincidence to you?” Mystique said, voice dripping in sarcasm. Jean didn’t dignify her with a response, raising an eyebrow and waiting for further explanation. “Also, Magneto was at a safe house in Colorado, about a hundred miles from Denver. Whoever drew you away from that school of yours was close to him. There also happens to be a meeting in Denver at the end of the week which is being attended by some of the most powerful people in the country. It lines up too well to be anything but a masterfully crafted plan.”

Jean had to admit that she was right. This was all connected in some way.

“You didn’t answer my second question, Mystique. How did you find us?” Storm stepped forward until she was a mere foot away from those yellow eyes.

“A girl can’t have her secrets?” Mystique replied innocently. Jean felt the air thicken and saw a wisp of electricity flicker across Storm’s palm.

“No,” Storm said calmly, and Jean heard the low rumble of thunder. Mystique regarded her impassively before responding.

“We developed a device a few years ago to track your jet. Every once in a while we feel the need to check in. Buzz here,” Mystique gestured to the woman on her left, “shorted out your systems. Do I need to detail every moment of our journey to your jet?”

Storm rolled her shoulders and took a step back. “That won’t be necessary,” she called over her shoulder as she walked to stand next to Jean. Scott had stiffened again when Mystique said the Brotherhood had been able to keep tabs on them for years.

“Two conditions,” he said, and Mystique tipped her head to the side. “First, that tracking device will be destroyed and all plans or blueprints will be erased from existence.” Mystique snorted derisively, but didn’t object. “Second, you, and anyone else you can scrounge up to help, will come with us to take back the school. Only once the school and all its students are secure will we save the professor and you precious Magneto.”

“Agreed,” Mystique replied shortly, “But honestly, I had heard ginger was at least a little smart, and I know your professor is a verifiable genius. We thought you would have discovered we could track you a long time ago.” She sounded genuinely confused that the X-Men had gone so long living obliviously.

Jean felt a wash of confusion as she realized Mystique was right. It should have become apparent years ago that they were being monitored. It struck her that this was a conversation she’d had before. She had been suspicious of the Brotherhood’s uncanny ability to show up soon after they arrived at a destination. It had happened multiple times, and Jean had trouble believing in coincidences, but the professor had convinced her it wasn’t a big deal. He had reassured her multiple times that there was no way the Brotherhood was tracking them when he knew the opposite was true. “He knew,” she said under her breath.

Mystique and Storm turned to her and after a moment their faces settled into identical masks of resignation. Jean would have laughed if she wasn’t so confused.

“He always did have a weakness,” Mystique said, and Jean wasn’t sure if she was talking about the professor or Magneto.

“We can discuss this with them once they are free,” Storm said, ignoring the fact that she, Jean, and Mystique were the only ones who understood what was going on, “At the moment we have more pressing issues.”

Mystique rolled her neck and stretched her arms behind her back. “We should wait until the day before the meeting in Denver to storm the school. I know you all want to save those kids, but if we give whoever is behind this too much time to react we risk a change in their plan, and then it will be practically impossible to find Magneto and the professor.”

Scott was obviously uncomfortable with the plan, but Jean knew he couldn’t help seeing the sense in it. “Alright, we will make our move the night before the meeting. All of us should be able to take the tunnel to the entrance in the East Wing without attracting undue attention.”

Mystique actually laughed out loud. “Leave the plan to me, you just focus on gathering any friends you can.”

“Why should we do that?” Scott demanded.

“I know that godforsaken mansion better than any of you possibly could. I know that any movement through the East Wing tunnel causes noises that can be heard in the bunker. I know the tunnel that can be entered through one of the West Wing bedrooms leads to a crawl space that is less structurally sound, but it can be accessed without anyone in the mansion being the wiser through a sewer two miles outside the house. Listen to me, and maybe we can save those kids.” Instead of staying for their reactions, Mystique turned on her heel and walked out of the jet, her cronies following close behind.

Scott, Jean, and Storm stood frozen in stunned silence for a moment before turning to look at each other incredulously. “The professor has been holding out on us,” Jean said.

“As much as I want to punch her in the face, we need them. With the help of more mutants, we have a much better chance of avoiding any casualties. We can wait for answers until after this is all over.” Scott was obviously itching to know what was going on, but he also saw reason when it was right in front of him.

“All we can do is hope the children are alright when we get there,” Storm said as she turned her head in the direction where the mansion, and everything they held dear, lay waiting.


	11. Colossus

Peter hadn’t let the men anywhere near Will’s body. Once it was all over, for better or for worse, he was going to make sure Will got a proper burial. It was the least he deserved for being a casualty of a fight he hadn’t meant to be a part of. 

Kitty had cried for hours, and Bobby was simply shell shocked at the death and Rogue being taken. Peter had done his best to respectfully move Will’s body out of the way and cover his blank face with a borrowed jacket, but he wasn’t meant to be a leader. He had no idea what to do with a mob of terrified children. It didn’t help that it had been hours and there was no sign of Rogue or food for the kids.

“What if they kill her, Kitty?” Bobby whispered, his voice strained from the pain and worry. “What if she’s gone and I never ever got to say good-bye?”

Kitty’s tears had dried up a short while before, but it looked as if she might start again. “We just have to hope she’s okay,” she said, not sounding very hopeful.

Kitty wasn’t the only one in the room with tears in her eyes. Some of the older children were trying to be strong, but the terror and hopelessness of their situation was getting to them all. Peter wanted to throw each and every one of the people who had attacked them through a wall. As his anger grew a familiar silver sheen crept up his arms, and he took a few deep breaths to keep himself calm. It would do them no good if he couldn’t keep himself in check.

The silence of the room, only punctuated by the occasional whimper or sniffle, was deafening. When Peter heard the telltale sound of the elevator, he quickly got to his feet and made sure he was between whoever was coming down and the children.

A guard he didn’t recognize entered the basement, and he was surprised to hear a cold female voice coming from under the helmet. “You,” she said, pointing at Peter, “Come with me.” She left him no opportunity to argue, turning immediately to reenter the elevator. Peter complied, if only to shield the children from notice a while longer.

The elevator ride and walk through the halls passed without a word spoken. Peter had no idea where he was being taken, but when he heard a broken sound coming from behind a door he had never entered, he had a good idea of who was behind it. The guard opened the door and gestured for him to enter.

It was a bare room, uncharacteristic of the mansion, and even though the leader was standing in the center, Peter couldn’t tear his eyes away from the figure in the chair.

Rogue looked absolutely wrecked. There was blood covering her face, and from the way she held herself Peter was willing to bet a fair amount of money that she was covered in bruises as well. This was his friend, barely more than a teenager, and that man had bludgeoned her.

“Take her back downstairs. She won’t be causing us any more trouble, will you?” He said, switching his focus from Peter back to Rogue.

Something sharp twisted in Peter’s chest as Rogue shook her head quickly and whimpered at the movement. He knew there would be absolutely no use in fighting. It would only result in more death and pain for people he cared about. Peter kept his face impassive as he crossed the room to Rogue. The female guard released Rogue from her restraints and Peter picked her up as gently as possible.

Rogue gazed up at him with a look in her eyes so broken that he had to look away. He kept his eyes straight ahead as he walked through the hallway and to the elevator, thanking all his lucky stars when the female guard stayed on the main level instead of following them down.

“Peter,” Rogue whispered feebly when they were alone, “I’m so sorry.”

Peter looked at her again, this time in disbelief, “Sorry for what? They beat you.”

“It’s because of me that Will is dead and Bobby is injured. I should have listened to the professor and stayed put, but I had to try to be a hero.” Her voice was strained to the point of breaking, and Peter wanted so badly to reassure her that it was alright, that nobody blamed her, but he knew she would continue to argue. If Rogue was one thing, she was stubborn.

“There’ll be time for talking later, Rogue. You should rest,” he said. Thankfully, Rogue ignored his avoidance of the topic and laid her head against his chest. The elevator doors opened and he saw all the eyes in the room widen as they took in the bloody girl in his arms.

“Rogue!” Bobby choked out. He looked like he wanted nothing more than to run to her.

Peter looked down to see that Rogue had already fallen asleep. “She’s alive,” he said shortly, not willing to elaborate. He set her down in between Bobby and Kitty. Kitty shifted to the side as Bobby arranged Rogue so her head was pillowed on his lap. There were tears in his eyes. Kitty gave Peter a meaningful look and he took a few steps away from the throngs of children so they could talk without anyone eavesdropping.

“It’s been over a day, Peter. Professor Storm and Scott and Jean should have figured something was wrong and gotten here hours ago. Something is stopping them. We have to consider the possibility that no one’s coming to save us.” Kitty was obviously trying to keep emotion out of her tone, trying to stay as rational as possible.

Peter had realized a few hours prior that the X-Men should have been breaking down the door. They would never leave the students in hostile hands unless they were being forced to. “What can we do but wait?”

Kitty looked back at Rogue. “We can fight.”

“We both know that’s not a good idea,” he said, “Two of our most powerful mutants are injured and the rest are children. Not much of an army.”

“They might be children, but many of them have strong powers. If we convince them all to fight, we have a chance to win,” Kitty had obviously put some thought into this plan.

“You’re willing to sacrifice however many of us it takes to get out?” Peter could barely believe she was suggesting it. Kitty wasn’t one to overlook casualties.

Kitty looked him right in the eyes, “The other option is sitting in this bunker while they murder every last one of us.” Peter knew she was probably right, but he wanted to believe they had time, that there was hope. He looked around the room, at how much the world would lose if those kids were gone.

“How do we tell them?” he asked, knowing her plan was truly the only way.

“We wait until Rogue wakes up and tells us what happened to her, then we talk to all the children at once. I’ll figure out something to say when the time comes.” Peter nodded and Kitty walked back to where Bobby was sitting and stroking Rogue’s hair, careful not to touch her skin. No one seemed to have noticed his and Kitty’s interaction, and he let out a long breath.

The next few hours passed uneventfully. Other than the occasional hushed conversation or smothered whimper, all was quiet in the bunker. Peter contented himself with listening to the even breathing of those around him.

Rogue woke up with a groan and Bobby helped her sit up against the wall. “How do you feel?” he asked, obviously concerned. Rogue sat quietly for a moment, trying to pull herself together.

Her voice was still weak when she spoke, “I’ll be okay.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Bobby shot back, worry in his tone. She looked down at her body and back at him. Rogue must have been in pain, but Peter knew that she was in more emotional turmoil than physical.

“It’s not important.” Rogue silenced any further protest with a shake of her head as soon as Bobby opened his mouth again.

“Can you tell us about it?” Kitty asked, not unkindly.

Rogue nodded again and took a deep breath, wincing and bringing a hand to her chest as she exhaled. “At first, that man, Grant Despot, just hit me. He told me his name and then he started to beat me.” Rogue paused and laid a gloved hand on Bobby’s thigh. He looked absolutely livid, but her touch calmed him down.

“Did he say anything useful?” Peter said, prompting her to continue.

“Actually, yes. At a certain point he grabbed my face and came close, but before he said anything my power started to drain him. He let go and gasped a few times before recovering, then he looked at me like I disgusted him, like some sort of beast. He said, ‘So that’s what you can do,’ and then hit me again. Then he kept talking, more to himself than to me, ‘I told him we should have killed you all on sight, but he said we needed you as leverage against your precious professor. Too much trouble to stir up a few controversial opinions at some trivial conference if you ask me.’ He didn’t say much after that other than a few insults. After a while he stopped hitting me and just left me alone in the room. He came back just before Peter came to get me.” Rogue stopped and looked up at Peter, obvious gratitude in her eyes.

“I know what he was talking about,” Bobby said.

“Me too,” Kitty added. Peter looked at them both with a raised eyebrow.

Bobby spoke, “I was watching the news after the video from the Brotherhood came out, and it said there was going to be a conference in Denver to discuss the attack. A whole bunch of big shot politicians are going to be there.” 

“So that means the professor is in Denver, or nearby,” Kitty said, glancing upwards. The men upstairs must only have been a portion of their enemy’s forces. “That’s why.”

“Why what?” Peter said, genuinely confused.

Kitty took a deep breath, “That’s why Storm and Scott and Jean aren’t here. They must be trying to save the professor.” There was obvious sadness in her voice.

“They would come for us first, wouldn’t they?” Rogue said hopelessly, “All these kids, they have to be the priority.” Bobby took her hand and held it tightly.

“The professor is the closest thing to family all of them have, if your father, your loving, protective father, was in danger, wouldn’t you save him?” Kitty was resigned to the fact that their teachers had not put them first.

Peter nodded, grudgingly accepting her logic. “Then we don’t have any other option. We could all be dead before they save the professor. We have to take matters into our own hands.” Kitty kept her face smooth.

“What do you mean, Pete?” Bobby asked, suspicious.

“We have to fight our way out,” Kitty said firmly.

“What?” Rogue practically yelled. “See how well that worked the first time? We have no chance.” Her eyes were wide and panicked.

“Not us,” Kitty said, making a gesture to encompass their small group, “All of us.” She turned around and looked at all the children, most of them nodding off to sleep.

Bobby and Rogue still looked unsure. “How can we put them in that sort of danger?” Bobby asked.

Peter replied, “The other option is sitting around and letting them die. We have to fight for our survival, and for theirs.”

Bobby nodded, but Rogue bit her lip and gazed around the room. “They’re just so little,” she whispered. Peter understood the sentiment, seeing some of the mutants clutching each other or blankets they brought down with them. They were children, one and all.

“We have no choice,” Kitty said. “We’ll talk to them in the morning. For now, they should be able to sleep peacefully.”

Peter felt his chest tighten as he thought of all the innocence that would be shattered when the kids would have to fight. He knew they were making the right choice, but it was by no means an easy one. “We should get some sleep as well, but we should have at least one person stay awake.” The other three nodded, and Peter stood. “I’ll take the first shift, you guys get some rest.”

Thankfully, no one argued, and they all laid down and closed their eyes. Peter crossed his arms and gazed around the room, knowing without a doubt he would give his life to save every single child in that room. He leaned against the wall and prepared himself for a long night. Peter knew he wouldn’t be sleeping.


	12. Erik

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight tweaking of movie canon in this chapter, as this is placed before the events of X2, but let us assume for the sake of the story that Erik found some other way to escape before his escape in the movie.

The days passed in a haze, punctuated by agonizingly eternal moments of pain and rage. Wale dosed him with the serum every day, showing him videos and pictures and whispering hateful words about Charles Xavier in his ear. Every moment made his blood boil and the suspense of the time before he got his hands on Charles again was an exquisite pain.

On the second day of the strange torture, Erik entered the room thinking of all the different ways he could twist a knife around a collarbone to induce the most pain. Charles looked tired and broken, dried bloodstains on his clothes. Erik sneered at his obvious weakness and flicked his wrist, bringing the blade he had been given to hover in front of Charles’ nose.

“You don’t have to do this,” Charles said, “We’re brothers, you and I.”

And with that the pain in Erik’s mind spiked for an eternal moment as the two sides of his consciousness struggle for dominance, before the pain abruptly receded and he looked up to see Charles smiling at him.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all. Erik felt no need to put up the façade that he was torturing Charles, because Wale would send him in the next day with a new dose regardless of what happened in the cell.

“Something tells me it’s not going to get easier,” Charles said to him. Erik nodded but said nothing, absentmindedly running a hand through his hair. “We have two more days before the meeting in Denver. Promise me you will try to keep your head.”

“I promise, Charles, but you know I have little choice in the matter.” Erik had no hope that he could resist the drug. In his youth it would have burned him that a simple plant could infect his mind, but with age had come maturity. He understood that some enemies couldn’t be defeated simply with the flick of a wrist.

They went over their plan once more, making sure that if anything went wrong Charles could still carry it out without Erik’s assistance. Too soon, Wale reentered, looking strangely delighted at the sight of Charles and Erik conversing companionably and sitting on the cot together.

Erik was wholly disconcerted by Wale’s cold smile. He stood and turned back to Charles before he guards forced him out. “Remember us, Erik,” Charles said by way of goodbye. Before he could elaborate Erik was pushed through the door.

He wasn’t allowed to sleep that night. Wale took him immediately to the room with the projector instead of his cell. The inhibitor had been replaced the moment he had stepped into the hallway. They strapped him down and Erik almost sighed at the monotony of it all. If he wasn’t being subjected to excruciating pain he might have been bored.

“I am fascinated by the two of you,” Wale said, walking around the chair so Erik could see him. “Fifty years of history does make for a strong connection, but I’ve never heard of anything like the two of you. You have me questioning just what sort of history Professor X and Magneto truly have.” 

Erik’s eyes moved from Wale to the two lab assistants standing on either side of him, each holding a syringe. They injected the Cerinuplantae Iratus into his arms at the same time, and sharp pain burned through him as Wale continued to speak.

“Your connection to the professor may be strong, but I promise you, I will break it.” Wale walked out of Erik’s line of vision and the projector started up once more.

The images on the screen were familiar, all things he’d seen before. He felt the burning heat flow through his veins and scorch his mind. Hate was all he knew, but he remembered Charles, he remembered who he really was. The pain was still there, but the anger felt muted.

All his control flew out the window when the projector shifted to the picture of a young girl. She was achingly and horribly familiar, and Erik felt his heart break as he looked at his daughter for the first time in too many years to count. Anya was just as beautiful as he remembered, and he felt a tear roll down his cheek before the image shifted. It showed a burning building.

The building where his child had burned alive. On bad days he still felt the unbearable pain in his chest at the thought of her agony. The pain in his head had spiked and his sorrow only fueled the anger he felt.

“If you had never met Charles Xavier, she could have lived,” Wale murmured in his ear.

“No,” Erik growled, knowing that wasn’t right.

“He was the defining change in your life, without his interference your normal life with Magda and Anya could have been achieved. Sadly, Charles and his world took away your every chance at happiness, at peace.” A tiny voice in the back of Erik’s mind whispered, peace was never an option, but Wale’s words were cutting through him like razor blades.

The picture on the screen shifted to a picture of Magda in her youth and Erik let out a strangled cry. It shifted back to Anya. “Without Charles, you could still have this,” Wale whispered.

Every rational thought left Erik’s mind and the anger he felt spiked to a level he had never felt before. “Kill him,” were the only words Erik’s mind could form. All other thoughts were bent on shapeless rage and pain.

“Soon, Erik, soon. But not quite yet.” Erik understood the meaning behind the words, and he knew Charles Xavier wasn’t going to die tonight. But Erik was going to make him hurt, just as Erik had hurt for all these years. “Take him to the cell,” Wale’s voice said to someone else in the room.

“No,” Erik forced through gritted teeth, “I can go on my own.” There was a beat of silence before he heard unintelligible murmuring behind him followed by a frightened-looking guard releasing him from his restraints.

Erik stood and rubbed him wrists. “Lead the way,” he said, low and dangerous. Before they left the room he levitated a particularly wicked-looking blade over to his hand and smiled slightly, imagining in detail where he could put those jagged edges.

The walk to Charles’ cell seemed longer than Erik remembered, his heartbeat pounding in his eardrums with every step he took. Finally, they reached the plastic door and Erik entered the room alone.

Charles looked up from his place on the bed that he hadn’t moved from in three days. “Erik?” he said, turning the word into a question.

Erik decided that there was no use in talking to Charles. He already knew what he was going to do. This was just for Erik, so he could get his hands on Charles and make him bleed, make him feel Erik’s pain. Charles’ eyes widened at the jagged knife and he opened his mouth to speak again. Erik felt a flare of anger and shot the knife across the room and pressed it into Charles’ cheek. He drew the blade slowly across Charles’ face and sliced a line through the corner of his mouth.

“Erik,” Charles said again, his voice sounding thick with pain and the blood bubbling on his lips. “You know I never meant to cause you any pain.” Erik flicked the knife to pierce Charles’ chest through his shirt by way of a response.

Charles continued to speak, but his voice was hitched and strained. “Old friend, we were never meant to fight each other like this. We should have stood side by side, brothers in all but name.” Charles cried out as Erik sliced a line over his chest. “Please, Erik, this isn’t what we were supposed to be. Listen to me, my friend, hurting me won’t bring you peace.”

Erik felt a slight flicker of doubt at the edge of his consciousness, but the rage quickly took it over. He took a step closer to Charles and pressed the knife, tip first, into the soft flesh of his stomach. Charles let out a satisfying yelp and Erik felt the corner of his mouth turn up. This is what he was meant for, to be a weapon. He had never been as good at anything as he was at bringing pain.

“Please,” Charles; voice had dropped to no more than a whisper. “Erik, I have lied to you.” Erik paused for a moment, not understanding. He forgot the knife for a moment, curious about what Charles was going to say. “I have lied to you for fifty years, and it had brought us both pain that cannot be reckoned.” Erik knew this for a fact, and he continued in pushing the blade further into Charles’ body.

Charles was barely holding himself up, his face gone completely white from the pain. “Remember when we were in Denver, that second night. I haven’t forgot a single moment, even though we had both had too much to drink.” 

Erik shook his head, memories springing up unbidden into his thoughts. “Stop,” he said, the first words he had spoken to Charles since he entered the room.

“We had agreed, albeit without words, to act as if it had never happened. I had hidden my true feeling from you, probably very poorly, but you never seemed to catch on one way or another.” Charles’ words had Erik absolutely confused and rooted in place. The knife was frozen pressed against Charles’ skin. “Erik, do you remember when you were in that plastic prison a few years ago. I used to come and play chess with you, or listen as you read aloud from The Once and Future King.”

Erik remembered it very clearly, but he tried to force his memories back behind a wall of pain and rage. “Stop this,” he said, but the knife remained still.

“I told you then that I kept returning to you because of my search for hope. Hope for you, and hope for all of mutant kind, but my real motivation was much more selfish. The real reason I couldn’t stop myself from returning to see you-” he paused, as if the words were stuck in his throat. Charles took a deep breath, strengthening his resolve, and spoke again, “The reason I couldn’t stop myself from going back, the reason I never let any of my people take your life, the reason that day in Cuba was the worst day of my life, is because I love you. I’ve loved you since that night in Denver, probably long before that. From the moment I met you, when I first entered your mind.”

There was no stopping the memories this time. Erik reeled backwards as vivid pictures crossed his mind: Charles looking at him intently over a chessboard, smiling at his white prison clothes, Charles speaking with him calmly after Erik had just tried to bring down a building full of people, Charles crying in his arms on a beach, Charles kissing him in a hotel room in Denver. It was obvious, of course, but Erik had never wanted to see it. All of the rage in his head was quickly being chased away by a much different feeling, just as insistent and burning, but causing him no pain. The kiss had been short, and Erik had shoved it off as a drunken mistake, but the guarded hurt in Charles’ eyes the next day was irrevocable.

They had never spoken of it, and after a couple more week on their trip the tension had lessened. Erik had been relieved that they could go back to their easy friendship of before Denver, and he had hoped to continue their relationship for the foreseeable future. All of that had collapsed on a beach in Cuba with one of Erik’s greatest regrets. With two of them, actually.

This time there was no spike of pain, no inferno raging in his mind. It was almost as if cool water had come along to extinguish the flames and soothe the burns. He stood utterly still and waited for the vivid mental images to fade. Erik stared at Charles, and Charles in turn met his gaze levelly and unabashed.

Erik was the first to speak. “Fifty years, Charles? Fifty years, and you never said a word.”

“I assumed you knew, simply because only someone who loved you very much would have forgiven you for what you’ve done. To me and in general.” There was no accusation in Charles’ tone, but there was a certain emptiness there, as if he had lost a piece of himself.

“All those years wasted fighting each other, Charles,” Erik was startled to feel tears pricking his eyes for the first time in years, “To have a precious few of them back.” He closed the gap between them slowly and took Charles’ hand in his own. “And I am sorry. I have said it too few times over the years, and rarely to the people I have hurt the most, but I truly am. You always deserved much more than you got from me.”

Charles met his eyes again, squeezing his hand. “You know I wouldn’t have had it any other way, old friend. I never could have had what we had with anyone else. Bookends of the same soul, you and me.”

“For what it’s worth, and I understand that it does not amount to much, I cared for you very much Charles, I still do. Maybe in the past I could have turned back to you and begged forgiveness, but in recent years I fear my mission has overshadowed every part of my life. I spend more time forgetting my past life than I do living my current one. You should know that I’ve never been truly happy, except in the time we had together before Cuba. It was the only semblance of family I had felt since before the camps, and in all the years since.” Erik had never really delved into the depths of his emotions, electing to lock them away and put forth a stoic front instead. His every word rang with truth, and the obvious softening in Charles’ eyes was all he truly needed to know he had said the right thing.

Charles pulled lightly at Erik’s arm, and Erik sat on the cot next to him. In a movement that felt practiced and natural he placed his arm around Charles’ shoulders and Charles leaned his head on Erik’s shoulder. It wasn’t much, but in that moment it was more than enough.

They stayed that way for a long while, Erik tentatively rubbing circles on Charles’ arm and wishing for the moment to last forever, even though he knew it wouldn’t. The thought had barely crossed his mind when the door opened and Wale walked in.

“Well isn’t this a touching picture,” he said, his loud voice shattering the moment. Erik pulled away from Charles and stood, taking a step in front of Charles as a reflex. If there was any way he could protect Charles he would do it. He debated abandoning their plan for a moment. It wouldn’t be difficult for him to take down the compound and get he and Charles out, consequences be damned. It was an enticing prospect, but Erik knew Charles would never abandon his students to the likes of Wale and his men. No matter how much he loved Erik, the children would always come first.

Wale watched his every movement with a sickeningly knowing smile on his face. “This is lovely,” he said, “every part of this is going to be so much sweeter.”

To Erik’s surprise, it was Charles who spoke, “Whatever do you mean, Franklin?” His tone was light, as if the undercurrent of dangerous tension in the room was nonexistent.

“Obviously you two have finally gotten to the profession of love part of these little meetings. Honestly, I’m surprised it took you so long. From what I learned about Cuba and your escapades since I could tell you two have been besotted since the early sixties.”

“And why does this concern you?” Erik asked, seeing Charles straighten up out of the corner of his eye when Erik didn’t deny any of what Wale had said.

Wale laughed, a cruel and mirthless sound, “Because now, my friends, the two of you have nothing left. You have laid yourselves bare. Next time, there’s going to be nothing left to save you.”

Erik felt a sickening sense of understanding wash over him. He wouldn’t be seeing Charles tomorrow, and the next day, when they were in Denver, Erik would be dosed with the Cerinuplantae Iratus once again, and this time Charles wouldn’t be able to snap him out of it. Charles had played his trump card, and now he was left with an empty hand.

“We shall see,” Erik heard Charles’ voice from behind him, absolutely calm. It signaled the end of their meeting, and Wale had his men restrain Erik and lead him out of the room. He looked back at Charles before they forced him through the doorway, but he was met with that blank and maddeningly steady stare, and then it was gone.

He allowed himself to be led down the corridors by the two guards. Erik realized, belatedly, that Wale had not followed them into the hall as he had in the days previous. He was still in the cell with Charles, and that thought sent a wave of dread through him like ice water in his veins. Loving someone like this was a weakness, a mistake he hadn’t allowed himself since emotion had absolutely ruined him in Cuba. However, what he and Charles had couldn’t be erased. Not by time, or distance, or by their many, many differences. It was a weakness Erik had tried not to reveal he had, but as he thought back he knew it was apparent in many of his actions. He had always made sure the Brotherhood knew that Charles and his school were off limits. It was only common courtesy, allowing Charles and the young mutants some semblance of privacy.

Erik was led to his cell and released from his restraints before the guards pushed him through the doorway. His eyes widened as he realized that Wale hadn’t put the inhibitor on him. The message was only too clear. He had the ability to leave, but if he did Wale would take it out on Charles, and possibly kill him. Erik clenched his fists and ground his teeth. He had felt metal on both of the guards leading him. If he hadn’t been dwelling on Charles he could have been out of that godforsaken place.

Wale knew just as well as Erik did that he wouldn’t blatantly throw Charles to the wolves. His captor had him pinned down to this cell and to his ridiculous plan. Whatever happened in Denver, Erik knew Wale would find a way to use his weakness against him to achieve his twisted goals.

Erik had always thought humans were useless, abhorrent, even, but he never had any inclination to destroy the world simply because he wished to continue living in it. He only hoped he and Charles could stop Wale before the earth fell into ruin.


	13. Charles

Charles fought back the slight prick of tears as he watched Erik walk out of the cell. It did him no good to show weakness, even though he had just bared his soul to the one person he never planned on letting in.

Wale didn’t leave the room with his guards as he had all the days before. Charles was weak from blood loss and pain, and he knew Wale wasn’t going to provide him with any medical attention. Wale had made it clear that Erik wouldn’t be visiting Charles again until the plan in Denver was set into motion.

“Something to say, Franklin?” he said steadily.

“You’ve been such a lovely prisoner, Charles. Not a hint of trouble from you. Erik, on the other hand, has made things very difficult for me, and unfortunately that is going to make this process a bit rougher for you. There is one rather disappointing aspect of the Cerinuplantae Iratus, and that is the fact its spell can be broken. The two of you, the type of bond you have, renders the drug practically useless. However, the plant has another, rather lovely trait which comes in handy if you’ve gathered an adequate supply of the drug. You see, the haze of the drug can’t be broken the same way twice. It adapts to the brain it has previously entered and prevents the exploitation of its weakness. You have nothing left to say to Erik to snap him out of it.” Wale was obviously delighted by this fact, and Charles let his shoulders sag. There was not much hope left.

“So you’ve stayed here to gloat?” Charles said, sharp mocking in his tone.

Wale laughed, “Not entirely. I’ve come here to tell you that tomorrow I’m not going to stop Erik from killing you once my goal has been achieved. You will watch the fragile peace of your world dissolve, and then you will watch as the man you love kills you with no remorse.”

“And what of the children?” Charles ignored the painful ache in his chest in favor of getting any other information out of Wale.

“If all goes according to plan tomorrow, they will be released. There won’t be a world for them to live in much longer anyways.” Wale turned towards the door having accomplished his goal. Charles had nothing left to hold onto. He couldn’t trust that Erik would snap out of it, and the only way to ensure his students’ safety was to start a war and let Erik take his life. Charles had little doubt Wale would kill Erik, too, but only after the drug had worn off and Erik realized what he had done. Wale was interested in their suffering, and there was no chance of escaping it.

The door closed behind Wale and Charles allowed the tears he had been holding back to roll down his face. He hadn’t cried in years, and the sorrow he felt brought back echoes of another life when he had been younger and harder and much more alone. Charles knew he was lucky with the lot he had been given. The X-Men and all his students were worth the pain he had suffered in his life. With that thought he dried his tears and straightened up, ignoring the pain from his many wounds. He was an old man who had lived a full life, and what better way to die than for those he loved?

He gingerly laid himself down on the small cot. There was no point in wasting the little time he had left worrying. Charles fell asleep thinking about his Oxford days with Raven, a small smile on his lips.

The next day passed uneventfully. Charles knew Erik was feeling the same sense of impending doom. He ate the three bland meals administered to him by blank-faced guards to conserve any strength he had. Charles immersed himself in memories, sinking into his mind to the point where any outside observer would assume he was in a deep sleep.

Charles thought of the bright spots of his childhood, all of them containing Raven or his father. He thought back to school and getting his doctorate, to his nightly attempts to get a lovely girl into his bed. Meeting Erik had been a turning point in his life, and thinking about the time they had before Cuba never failed in making Charles feel a curious mix of fond nostalgia tinged with sadness. He thought of all the years he’d had with his students, building up the school and teaching them to embrace who they were. Charles never doubted for a second it wasn’t worth it. The life he had lived and the happiness he had felt were worth all of the pain and heartbreak. 

He slept through the night soundly, and when he woke up he waited patiently for Wale and his men to retrieve him, perfectly ready to die.


	14. Mystique

Mystique had told the Power Rangers to gather up any friends they had, so she wasn’t surprised when the roar of a motorcycle broke through the silence of the field with the eternally grumpy Wolverine astride it. He was as asset in a fight, even if he was an extremely irritating one.

She was surprised when the jet took off later that same day, returning a few hours later. Her curiosity got the better of her, and she exited the Brotherhood’s plane in the hope the X-Men would exit the jet with their new addition. Mystique took pride in being able to keep a level head in any situation, and it was very difficult to surprise her. In spite of this, the sight of a familiar blue form made her breath catch in her throat. She fought back the urge to flee as the five of them approached her.

“Hey!” she yelled back into the jet. “Get out here.” The members of the Brotherhood who had been selected for the mission in Seattle exited the jet. They numbered only five, including Mystique, and she knew at least three of them were disgruntled over the recent events. Magneto was an imposing leader, demanding both fear and respect, but most of his followers would barely bat an eye if he died, other than to use it as an excuse to attack the humans. Even with their distaste for the situation, all five of them came to stand behind her, and Mystique turned back to face her past.

Hank McCoy strode alongside his friends with confidence in a suit and tie. He had obviously come straight from work to assist them. Mystique checked in on him every once in a while, partly from a business standpoint. As one of the leaders of the Pro-Mutant revolution, she needed to know the politics. However, there was no denying her own personal curiosity had a hand in her keeping tabs on how Hank was doing. He was one of the only ties to her past without much pain and complicated history attached. 

“Mystique,” he said and nodded in her direction. 

She elected to ignore him and turned to Cyclops, the apparent leader of their little group of misfits. “This is all you got? The Canadian and the furball?” Wolverine was unaffected, and seemingly bored with the situation as a whole. Hank, on the other hand, visibly stiffened at her teasing. He must have never truly grown out of the self-conscious and awkward boy he had been.

“They are both good fighters. Any other allies are too far away or unwilling to put themselves at risk. My team and whoever you brought along are all we have.” Scott directed at her. 

“I guess they’ll have to do. Altogether the ten of us have a good chance of rescuing the children as long as whoever is holding them captive is human,” Mystique dropped all joking from her tone and got down to business. “We will all ride in your jet because it’s faster and less likely to be detected.” She saw Wolverine’s lip curl up in a sneer around his cigar. Obviously, he was not looking forward to traveling in close quarters. “We land nearby the drainage tunnel that leads into the West Wing. Once inside the house we split up into four groups, two focused on taking down as many of those bastards as possible, two searching for and securing the students.”

“At least one person who knows the mansion well will have to be in each group,” Storm interrupted. Mystique bit back a snappy retort. She had a point. At least one of the X-Men would have to lead a team with members of the Brotherhood.

“You noble heroes will have to stoop to working with us lowly criminals. I will lead a team of three including me, and one of you will take two of my people. That team and mine will spearhead the attack,”

“I will lead your people into battle,” Storm said. Mystique raised her eyebrow that it wasn’t Wolverine chomping at the bit to get in a fight, but she understood the wisdom in bringing Little Miss Silver with them. She had seen more than one brother or sister shot through with lightning because of her.

“Jean and I will search the West Wing, Hank and Logan will take the east,” Cyclops was obviously grasping at straws to implement himself as the alpha male. Mystique almost felt sorry for him, but there was no denying she was the best leader of the operation.

“That’s settled, then. The meeting in Denver is tomorrow afternoon, and I intend to attack in the morning. Once the mansion is secure we leave four people to guard the students, and the rest of us head to Denver immediately. Your professor and Magneto should be home in time for dinner.” She flashed them her most winning smile.

“Agreed,” Jean said, and with her words the meeting was at an end. Mystique heard her people climbing back into their jet before all the X-Men had turned around. Hank lingered after the others had left and was looking at her quizzically.

“A word?” he said.

Mystique didn’t say anything but walked away from the plane and into the field, expecting him to follow. After a moment she heard his quiet footsteps behind her. She had no particular destination in mind, so after a few minutes of silent walking she stopped at a random point. The grass was long and tickled her bare legs. She just barely resisted the urge to scratch.  
“Well?” she said, injecting a little malice into her voice. It did no good for her to act soft once her underlings were gone if she didn’t play the part all the time.

“I need you to understand how important these children are. There are dozens of young mutants trapped in that mansion, and if we can’t save all of them this mission will be a failure. No matter how indifferent you and your people are about the casualties in this battle, I need you to try your hardest to protect these kids.” There was no doubting his honesty. Hank obviously felt very strongly about this.

Mystique tried and failed to react impassively. “Is that truly what you think of me? What you have thought of me for all these years? The whole point of the Brotherhood, of this entire damned crusade is to protect mutants from humans. Any mutant life lost is a regretful one, unless said mutant was standing in the way of our dream. We are not the villain in your fairy tale, they are.” she made a broad gesture to indicate all the humans.

Hank stared at her with that same contemplative look on his face, pinning her in place. It had been a long time since she’d allowed her emotions to go unchecked. “I never said you were the bad guys, but the world isn’t simply black and white, hero and villain. We all made our choices, and I know your choices include killing people. Yours and Magneto’s. I didn’t ask to talk because I wanted to accuse you of villainy, Raven.” Mystique flinched when he spoke that name. “I just need your word you will do your utmost to save all the students.”

“You have it,” she said through gritted teeth. “You should get some rest, Beast. We’re all going to be fighting tomorrow.” Mystique turned back to the plane and set a brisk pace in order to get away from Hank as fast as possible.

“I’m sorry,” she heard him call after her. She didn’t turn back, but she stopped in her tracks and waited for him to elaborate. “I’m sorry you never found peace.”

Mystique had no reply, and she hurried back to her plane before she said something she would regret. She knew what Erik would say, that peace was never his goal, that it had never been a part of the plan. But all she could think to say was ‘me too.’ 

She walked into the jet and headed straight for her bunk to take her own advice. They would all need rest to keep their strength up.

Mystique felt the familiar buzz of adrenalin and anxiety thrumming through her veins. She always felt this way before a fight, and the thought of a true battle made her toes tingle.

There was a storm coming in the morning.


	15. Kitty

They had decided that Bobby would stay in the sublevel along with any children under the age of fourteen. He was little use in a fight with a broken leg, and he could use his powers to freeze the elevator after all those who were going to battle had gone up if anyone tried to come down.

Kitty and Peter would go up with the oldest and most powerful children, surprising their captors and allowing the next wave of mutants to travel up. Rogue was put in charge of the last group whose job was to pick off any attackers the other groups hadn’t gotten.

It was a solid plan, but Kitty was still worried. They had no choice but to attempt an attack. By her estimation it was at least Thursday, meaning they had less than twenty-four hours before the meeting in Denver, and their usefulness, was ended. Most of the children were at the age where they believed themselves invincible. Those who had come to the school when they were very young especially, because they had never known true hatred for their mutations. Kitty hated to throw them into a dangerous fight, but she knew it was their best, and possibly their only, chance of getting free.

“Most of the kids are asleep,” she turned at the sound of Peter’s voice behind her. Bobby and Rogue were curled close together, both nodding off, and practically everyone else in the room was already asleep.

“Good,” Kitty said, “They need their rest.”

“Are you sure about this?” It was strange to have Peter so clearly voicing all his concerns, but then was a good a time as any for him to become a more active member of the team.  
Kitty sighed and looked up at him, “Absolutely not. Every part of me is screaming that this is a horrible idea, but I don’t see another option. We’re running out of time.”

“Should we wake them up?” He asked. They had roused all the children a few hours prior, letting them know the plan and their role in it. Every child was given the option to stay, regardless of age, but most of those old enough were eager to fight. After the announcement and explanations the children were told to sleep.

“Not for a few hours.” She had checked the time on one of the kid’s watches. “We wait until the morning to strike. It should all be over, one way or another, before the meeting starts.”

Peter took a few steps towards her and held out his arms. Kitty was so busy being the leader, the adult, that she had almost forgotten her own fear. She practically flung herself at Peter and sobbed against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her. Any casualties would be on her head, and Kitty had no idea what she would do if any of the students got hurt.

They stayed like that for a long time, until Kitty’s tears had run out and all of the children were asleep. Kitty chuckled wetly when she pulled away from Peter to see a large damp spot on his shirt. “Sorry,” she said, her voice thick.

“It’s alright, Kitty. We’re all scared.” Kitty found it hard to believe that Peter in all his muscle bound and steel plated glory was frightened, but something in his eyes told her he was telling the truth. “You should get some sleep,” he said.

“I can’t sleep. You get your rest, I’ll keep watch over everyone,” Kitty replied. Peter opened his mouth to argue, but she shook her head at him and narrowed her eyes. He relented and went over to where Bobby and Rogue were sleeping soundly and laid down with his feet near Bobby’s back. Soon enough he was snoring lightly, and Kitty exhaled forcefully. Even though she was surrounded by people, it felt nice to have at least some semblance of being alone.

She wandered around the room, looking at all the peaceful, sleeping faces of the children, of her friends. It hurt to think of all of them fighting when they looked so utterly defenseless. After a while she sat down next to Rogue, comforted by the sound of her steady breaths.

The hours passed too quickly, and soon enough it was time to wake everyone up. Peter, Rogue, and Bobby snapped into awareness quickly after groaning and rubbing their eyes. Peter and Rogue helped Kitty rouse the children, and soon enough the entire room was infused with nervous energy. They arranged themselves into teams, a fifteen or sixteen year old kid put in charge of each group.

Kitty felt a strange mix of terror and pride at how well they all worked as a team. She hoped it would be enough to get them through the day.

Long before she was ready it was time to go. “Let’s do this,” Kitty said under her breath. “My team, with me,” she said to the children. Peter and the selected students followed her closely, and she set up a silent prayer that the guards were tired and unprepared.

They piled into the elevator and the only sounds were their heartbeats, quickened with adrenalin. The door opened, and Kitty ran out into the hall before she could think better of it. There were two guards outside the elevator, and Peter nocked the first unconscious in the same moment that Kitty sunk the other through the floor up to his neck.

It was eerily quiet, and Kitty hoped that meant their captors were sleeping, not that they were waiting for them. “Let’s move,” she said and gestured for the group to follow her. She set a brisk pace down the hallway towards the Professor’s study. Her and Peter had decided it was the most likely place for the others to be.

The only warning they had was the quiet sound of footsteps before a large group of guards in full combat gear came around the corner. “Get down!” Kitty yelled, grabbing the first two children she could and making sure any bullets went right through them. The other students had gotten to the sides of the hallway and out of danger. One of the kids Kitty was holding spit what looked like green saliva at the soldiers, and three of them fell to the floor, clutching their faces and screaming. Kitty glanced at the boy to see his smiling brightly at her, and she felt something like hope.

No more bullets rained down on them, and the children took this as the signal to attack. In a matter of seconds the guards were set upon by a swarm of mutants, and before Kitty could get her hands on any of them they were all unconscious or otherwise incapacitated.

She heard the sound of fighting from somewhere else in the mansion, and she hoped the other teams of mutants was having as much luck as hers. They moved further down the hallway and turned left. The study was still a few turns away, and Kitty heard the sound of thumping feet coming at them from both directions.

“Watch our back!” She ordered Peter and half of the children. Kitty turned the other direction and readied herself to fight, breathing hard. The fighting seemed to come and go in a blur, with singular moments of clarity mixed in.

She punched a woman in the face, feeling the hard lines of a jaw beneath her fingers. Kitty pushed a man through a wall, leaving only his feet on one side. She felt time stand still as a girl next to her fell to the ground, bullet in her leg. Kitty grabbed the girl and sunk them through the floor, thanking all her lucky stars when they ended up in the room with all the children and not the middle of a wall. Bobby wordlessly took the girl and started putting pressure on her wound, nodding to Kitty.

Kitty rushed to the elevator and ran through the doors once it had stopped on the ground floor. There were signs of battle everywhere, scorch marks on the walls and broken light fixtures on the floor. Kitty heard a distant crash and ran towards the noise. She hoped Peter had been able to direct the students in her brief absence.

The closer she got to the sounds of fighting the greater the destruction became. A certain section of the wall had been completely blown apart. Kitty rounded a corner and the noise came to a crescendo, accompanying the sight in front of her.

There were men and women in combat gear littered across the floor, greatly outnumbering the incapacitated students. Kitty forced herself to think about the problem at hand, not the distinct possibility that more children were dead. Peter was fighting four men at once and the children had formed a line against five more. Kitty kicked out the legs of one of Peter’s attackers and slammed her elbow into his helmet. Peter made quick work of the other three and by the time Kitty turned around the children were looking at them expectantly, all five guards unconscious on the floor.

Kitty pressed a finger to her lips and listened for any other sounds of fighting, but the mansion had become eerily silent. “Peter,” she said, “Search the east wing for any others, I’ll take the west.” He nodded and set off down the hallway. “You guys,” Kitty continued, turning to the students, “help anyone injured or unconscious back down to the basement, and round up the rest of the students who were fighting elsewhere.” Kitty smiled when the students got right to work. Content that they would be alright for a while Kitty walked down the hall opposite the one Peter had taken, looking around every corner.

Every once in a while she would come across a group of students and direct them towards the elevator, or a man or woman lying on the ground, but the west wing was largely empty and quiet.

As Kitty crept down a hall on the far west side of the mansion she heard a thumping noise from a room to her right. It was a bedroom, one that wasn’t occupied by students yet, and Kitty took a deep breath and pushed the door open, bringing her face to face with the last person she expected to see.  
“You’re Mystique,” Kitty said, ashamed at how her voice shook.

Before the naked blue woman could respond another person hauled themselves up through the trapdoor and joy broke through Kitty’s fear and confusion.  
“Storm!” she exclaimed, rushing forward to pull her teacher into an embrace. “Thank god you’re here.”


	16. Beast

Hank’s fur stood on end the entire plane ride to the field near the drainage tunnel. It was by no means a long flight, but nearly every seat in the jet was filled with a mutant, and the atmosphere was much too tense and crowded. 

When Ororo and Jean had strode into his office he had known they were going to drag him along on some crazy mission or another. When they told him the children were in trouble he had left with them without another word. He had helped found the school, had been by Charles’ side as the professor had searched and found prospective students. Hank had designed the bunker, X-Jet, and Cerebro itself. The school was as much a part of him as his own two hands.

They had waited to mention Mystique and her motley crew of mutants until they were ten thousand feet up, and Hank mourned the loss of the option of jumping out. He had more distrust than anyone of the Brotherhood and its methods, and Mystique occupied a part of his memory he would rather forget.

He did have to admit, however, that her plan was sound. She had grown up in the mansion, and only Charles knew more about its nooks and crannies. The element of surprise would be their best friend in the attack on the children’s captors, and with ten trained mutants on their side the odds were fairly good.

Hank still resented the trip they had to make through a sewer.

The jet landed in a clearing next to a cornfield. Storm assured them the only building for miles was an abandoned farmhouse. No one would find the jet.

“So, Mystique, where is this secret tunnel?” Scott asked and looked at the seemingly empty farmland.

“This way,” Mystique said and turned to walk east. Her people followed without missing a beat, and after a moment Jean followed as well. 

Hank and Logan were the last to start walking, and Hank found himself inclined to agree when Logan muttered, “I don’t like this.”

They only had to walk for a few minutes before Mystique stopped and gestured to something on the ground. Hank stepped forward and glanced where she was pointing. He scrunched up his nose when he saw the metal grate and heard the sound of moving water.

“A sewer?” he said incredulously.

“What’s wrong Beast? Are you squeamish?” Mystique mocked him. He growled lowly in response and ignored her subsequent chuckle. “Fervo, get this out of our way.”

One of Mystique’s people, a short man with no physical mutation, stepped forward and pressed his hands to the grate. After a moment the metal started to sizzle, and in less than a minute the grate melted apart and fell into the darkness below.

“Hope you all brought your galoshes,” Mystique said and jumped through the opening. After a split second they heard a light splash indicating she had landed. “It isn’t far,” she called up, “as long as you’re all willing to get your toes wet.”

Two of Mystique’s people jumped in, making much louder splashed than their leader, and Storm levitated herself gracefully through the hole without making a sound.

Hank grumbled a few choice obscenities under his breath before grabbing the edge of the grate and hanging on as he lowered himself through the opening. “Oh c’mon, Beast, don’t want to get your fur wet?” Mystiques voice taunted him from below. He pinpointed the direction the voice came from and swung himself at it, executing a backflip before landing with a terrific splash. Hank bit back a chuckle when he heard a gasp off to the side. It was too dark in the tunnel to see, but he was sure Mystique had gotten doused in sewer water. Served her right.

The rest of their mismatched group took their turned jumping into the water and soon enough all of them were cold and more than a little wet, but they were all uninjured from the fall.

“How are we supposed to see where we’re going?” Scott said.

“Lux?” One of the Brotherhood mutants said. After a moment one of the other mutants was holding a ball of light in her hands. She furrowed her brow in concentration before throwing her arms in the air. The ball split into at least a dozen smaller orbs and spread out over all their heads.

“Don’t get too close,” the woman who must have been Lux warned with a smile, “They aren’t friendly.”

The orbs followed them as they made their way down the tunnel. They didn’t speak during the trip. Hank assumed it was some combination of nerves and fear of discovery. Mystique had told them it was around a mile to the mansion, and the journey went by quickly and without incident. 

Mystique held up her arm and gestured to Lux. The orbs floated over to the wall and revealed metal rungs drilled into the wall leading up to a trapdoor.

“We’re directly under the mansion, and that’s our way up,” Mystique said. She climbed up the ladder and pulled the latch locking the door. The metal door must have been extremely heavy, but Mystique pushed it open with her shoulder without so much as a grunt. Hank was impressed, though he would never say it.

Mystique stepped up the last few rungs and into the room above them. Storm hurried after her, obviously eager to help the children. Hank heard voices from the opening as he waited for those in front of him to climb the ladder. When he reached the top and hauled himself into the room he saw Storm embracing a young girl and Mystique tapping her foot impatiently. The rest of the mutants had spread out into a loose circle awaiting instructions.

Hank recognized Kitty Pryde when she pulled away from Storm and he was relieved to see a smile on her face. “We were so scared you guys weren’t going to come in time,” Kitty said.

“It looks as if we didn’t,” Storm replied. “What happened here?” Hank looked at the girl a little closer and saw the telltale signs of battle on her. Kitty’s clothes were dirty and torn in places, and there was a cut on her forehead.

“We thought they were going to kill us, so we decided we had to fight. Peter, Rouge, the older children, and I surprised the soldiers and fought our way through them. I was searching this wing for any stragglers,” Hank detected a hint of pride in Kitty’s voice. It was impressive that a group of teenagers had taken down a private military outfit, but Hank knew from personal experience that Charles’ students could achieve great things.

“Why did you think they were going to kill you?” Jean asked, stepping forward, “You’re all worth much more alive than dead.”

Kitty looked down at the floor, and Hank had a feeling none of them were going to like this part of the story. “They killed Will. The leader shot him in the head because we fought back when they first took us. I assumed as soon as the meeting in Denver was over they would have no more use for us.”

Ororo put her hand over her mouth and took a step back. “Take me to the others,” she said shakily.

“I’m sorry to break up this moment, but I feel the need to remind you of our other objective. Your brats have done our work here for us, but Magneto and the professor are still in Denver, and the meeting is only a few hours away. We need to go.” Mystique said.

“Some of us need to stay with the children,” Scott replied. “Some of us need to remain here.”

Mystique rolled her eyes, “You can stay here to babysit. We just need transport to our jet.”

“If you think I’m not coming along to get Charles you are sadly mistaken,” Hank said, putting a bit of a growl in his voice.

“Same here, bub,” Logan added from the corner of the room.

“As long as we leave soon, I don’t give a damn who comes along.” Hank fought his instincts to start a fight, but he had to admit she was right. Charles was his oldest friend, and the longer he was in the hands of his captors the less of a chance they had to save him.

Hank headed out the door, “Let’s go,” he called over his shoulder. Mystique followed closely behind and her people shuffled out into the hallway. Logan brought up the rear, lighting a cigar as he walked.

“Be careful!” Ororo called after them. Hank never was anything but careful, but he could made no promises for Mystique and her people, or even Logan for that matter.

They walked down to the garage and Hank saw more than a couple pairs of eyes widen at the assortment of expensive and classic cars. One of the men strolled over to a classic Chevy and ran his fingers over the red paint. “Not that one,” Hank said, moving to the back of the garage where the more practical cars were parked.

He heard an exasperated sigh when he grabbed two pairs of keys and unlocked two nondescript black SUV’s. Hank threw one set of keys to Logan and held onto the other. He trusted Wolverine about as far as he could throw him, but he wasn’t about to put one of the Brotherhood behind the wheel.

Hank slid into the driver’s seat of one of the SUV’s and moved the seat back as far as it would go. Mystique sat in the shotgun seat and slammed the door and said, “Drive.” He didn’t need to be asked twice. They peeled out of the garage and down the driveway at a slightly less than safe speed.

The short drive passed in tense silence, and by the time Hank had parked and gotten out of the car Mystique was halfway to where the jet was hidden. Logan came to a screeching halt a few seconds later.

“Are you sure you can fly this thing?” Logan said gruffly.

“Of course I can,” Hank replied, “I designed it.” If he didn’t know better he would have thought Mystique had smiled.

They piled into the jet and Hank settled into the driver’s seat. It was comfortably familiar and it felt as if it had been only yesterday he had piloted the jet last. He hadn’t flown in years, but he hadn’t forgotten a thing. He smelled smoke coming from behind him and growled lowly. “Logan if you don’t put that cigar out in the next thirty seconds I will throw you out the bombay doors without a parachute.”

Logan grumbled indistinctly, but Hank heard the telltale sound of a cigar sizzling out a moment later. Hank smiled to himself and steered the jet a few degrees north, setting the course for Colorado. He turned around to check all the passengers had strapped into their seats and caught Mystique smiling at him. 

She met his eyes levelly and quirked an eyebrow. Hank turned away after a moment, happy his blue fur covered up any trace of a blush.

The rest of the ride passed in relative silence, aside from a few hushed conversations between the members of the Brotherhood.

Hank tried to lose himself in the familiarity of the jet, going through all the inner workings and designs in his head to keep distracted. Charles had been in trouble more than a few times over the years, but Hank still worried about what would happen to the school, and to mutants as a whole, if one of his enemies were to succeed.

“Bring us down in the city,” Mystique said after they had been in the air for about an hour.

“Even if I have the cloaking on, we could be easily detected,” Hank replied. Whoever took Charles obviously wasn’t an idiot, they probably had radar to search out any possible opposition to their plan.

“We don’t have time to play it safe and land in some field ten miles outside Denver,” Mystique’s voice had changed from casual to verging on angry, “Magneto could be used to do unthinkable damage, and don’t even get me started on the professor. Whatever is about to happen, it’s not going to be a walk in the park. We have no room for playing it safe.”

Hank was surprised at how vehemently she felt about it. For years he had assumed she filled the role of Magneto’s assassin slash silent right hand woman. It dawned on Hank that Mystique probably had just as much to do with leading the Brotherhood as Erik.

“I’ll take us down in Denver, but it’s on your head if we get attacked before we even reach Magneto and Charles,” Hank said, not giving any ground. Mystique nodded at him and settled back into her seat. The conversation had thoroughly shocked him out of his reverie, and Hank did little but worry for the remainder of the trip.

They landed on a rooftop just outside downtown Denver and Hank made sure there was enough power to keep the cloaking in place for the duration of their stay before exiting the jet behind the others.

“The meeting is at City Hall. We are about a mile and a half away right now, and the meeting doesn’t start for an hour and fifteen minutes,” Mystique had completely shifted into leadership mode. “Lux, Buzz, Wolverine, and Beast take the east side and I will take Fervo and Tip on the west. We go in, find Magneto and the professor, and get out. Once we have them we can refocus on taking down whoever is behind this.”

No one said anything in contradiction, and Hank realized just how much authority Mystique had, not just over the Brotherhood, but over people as a whole. They moved through the apartment building to the ground level and set off down the street in the direction of downtown.

Mystique had transformed into a pretty blonde woman, and for a moment Hank was lost in the past. She looked almost no different from the Raven he had known all those years ago, and it took Hank’s breath away. He shook his head to clear it, but when he looked up Mystique was gazing straight back at him inquisitively, and Hank knew she had seen him staring. He quickly put up his hood and shuffled along.

Hank was happy they were wearing civilian clothes and not the conspicuous uniform of the X-Men. They were functional, but when Hank designed them he’d given little thought to stealth.

They spread out as they walked to not draw attention to such a large group moving together. The mutants of the Brotherhood with physical mutations subtly concealed their more noticeable traits, and Hank had changed into a hooded sweatshirt to cover his face and shoved his furred hands into his pockets.

Hank resented covering up his mutation. For the first few years after his genes were enhanced and he became blue and furry he had hidden, using drugs to look normal. It wasn’t until the late eighties he stopped hiding completely and entered the world, running for office and changing the face of mutant politics. He had never regretted it, but sometimes he yearned for the years he didn’t turn every eye in the room for looking different.

However, in this situation stealth was key, and Hank understood the necessity of appearing as normal as possible to any prying eyes.

The walk downtown was about the same length as the trek through the sewer, but thankfully less wet. Soon enough they reached a street in the heart of downtown with a red brick building with ‘City Hall’ written in large letters across the front. There were security guards posted at every exit and probably more posted inside. Hank knew how much the government loved security, and how useless those guards would be against Erik or Charles.

“On my mark, we go in,” Mystique said.

The two teams moved to opposite sides of the buildings and Hank positioned himself so he could see Mystique half a block away and so he had a straight line to one of the less-guarded side entrances.

He attempted to look natural as he gazed at Mystique and bristled with anticipation, ready to fight.


	17. Charles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to think of this chapter as the beginning of the end. I promise a whole bunch of Charles and Erik in the next few, leading up to the last one. Thank you for any and all of you who have been reading, leaving kudos, and commenting, you all are the reason I go on.

A group of seven men came into Charles’ cell with a metal wheelchair after he had been awake for a few hours. None of them said a word as they forced him into the chair and cuffed his hands into place.

“Good morning to you, too, gentlemen,” Charles said with a slight smile. He felt no need to feel gloomy and hopeless, although it took a considerable amount of effort to stifle a groan as the movement pulled on his injuries. Charles always held onto hope, and though he knew the day was not going to be easy, he still had hope of salvation.

They wheeled him back to the hangar he had arrived in, and Charles almost laughed at the ridiculousness of posting armed guards on a man who couldn’t walk or use his powers. Erik had always been more of a ‘marching down halls menacingly’ kind of person. Charles felt like a child who was in trouble being taken for a time out.

He was surprised to see two different planes were being readied for flight. Charles had assumed he and Erik would be flying in the same plane to Denver, but apparently Wale had other plans. He kept quiet while the guards took him up the ramp into one of the jets and shifted him from the wheelchair into one of the plane seats.

“Are there any windows on this plane? I would so love to see the sun again,” Charles said. One of the guards glanced at him looking confused, but no one responded to him. It was going to be a dull flight without any conversation. The guards had obviously been instructed not to speak to him, but Charles didn’t understand what harm a conversation would do.

He could hardly charm a soldier away from a private army without the use of his powers. Charles almost sighed in disappointment when Franklin didn’t get on the plane. He would have talked to Charles, but he must have been riding with Erik.

Charles’ feeling of dread returned when he thought of what must have happened to Erik in the time they were apart. It was going to hurt much worse this time, Erik hurting him. Charles had laid himself bare, and now it was going to be like a white hot rod on his already scorched mind for Erik to hurt him without remorse.

They landed after less than an hour of flying. The hideout must have been somewhere in the mountains nearby Denver. Charles went through the monotonous and painful routine of being manhandled back into the chair and wheeled down the ramp and out of the plane.

Charles observed that they had touched down on a private airstrip a few miles outside of Denver. He could just make out the skyline of the city in the distance. There were four black cars already waiting on the tarmac. They were sleek and functional, and Charles had no doubt they were armored and equipped with bulletproof glass.

He was taken to one of the cars and unceremoniously shoveled into the backseat. A soldier came in after him and settled on his left side, and just before the door was closed Charles caught a glimpse of Erik exiting the other plane, completely unfettered and heading towards one of the cars out of his own volition.

Charles resisted a shudder after the car door slammed and cut off his view. He would have been exponentially more comfortable if Erik was chained up, surrounded by a dozen guards. Erik had flown in a metal plane with men who had kidnapped and tortured him and he hadn’t caused a single issue. Charles was deeply unsettled because he knew that for Erik to be calm in the situation all his focus must have been on one thing, and Charles had a sinking feeling that one thing was to destroy him in every way Erik knew.

The car ride was tenser than the flight had been. Charles stared directly out the windshield, mourning the loss of his telepathy in a city so large.

Back in the cell Charles had been able to distract himself from the loss. There were very few people for him to read in the first place, other than Wale and Erik, and the presence of his own mind in the confines of the empty room had been enough to stave off madness. Unfortunately, as Charles gazed with an unchanging expression at the dozens of buildings passing them by, the knowledge of all the minds he would have felt left him feeling empty and bereft.

Charles’ telepathy had been restricted before, but that had always been only during times of captivity. He felt the telltale pressure against his temples signaling an oncoming headache.

The pounding in his head only increased as they drove into downtown, and Charles felt as if his head was about to burst. Pain and anxiety put him completely on edge, and Charles had to continuously remind himself to relax. 

A few minutes after passing into the downtown area the car rolled to a stop and the guards got out. Charles waited to be manhandled once more, but instead Franklin slid into the seat next to him.

“How are you today, Professor?” he asked, perfectly at ease even though he planned to ignite the fuse which would destroy the world.

Charles sighed and dropped every semblance of calm he had been maintaining for the past week. “If I may be blunt, Franklin, I am bloody exhausted. And, if I may further add, I am extremely adverse to every part of your plan.”

“I understand, but you must realize how this is necessary for the survival of our race,” Franklin was obviously extremely secure in his convictions, and Charles recognized how mad the man truly was.

“You must realize that a war of these proportions would result in losses for humans and mutants alike. War does not discriminate based on genes, it kills with little to no distinction for the life being taken.” Charles knew he had little chance of changing Franklin’s mind, but he felt it was his duty to try.

“We will rise from the ashes to make a better world.” Charles was jolted into a memory of Sebastian Shaw, and how he had the same philosophy all those years ago. He and Erik had averted that crisis, but the price had been unbearably steep.

“I could refuse, let Erik kill me without accomplishing your goals.”

“But then, my dear professor, all your students will be killed, and every single one of their young lives will rest on your head,” Franklin smiled as he sealed Charles’ fate with his words. Charles said nothing in response, but from Franklin’s smile Charles could tell he knew he had won.

The children always had been Charles’ weakness, and he sent out a mental message, not with telepathy, but simple for the sake of his sanity, to Ororo, Scott, Jean, Hank, even Logan. Take care of them, Charles thought, and he felt his eyes well up with tears as two of the soldiers deposited him into the wheelchair once more.

Erik was nowhere in sight, and Charles assumed they were keeping them apart until the main event. He was wheeled down the sidewalk and up a ramp to a door on the side of a beautiful building that could be nothing other than the Denver City Hall. The security guards posted at the door let them in without a word. Franklin must have the entire building under his control. A man like that wouldn’t leave anything to chance.

They traveled down several opulently decorated hallways before entering a small room towards the center of the building. Charles observed quietly when the soldier who had been pushing the wheelchair positioned him in the middle of the room facing the door. The young man left the room immediately, and Charles was left alone with his thoughts and an overwhelming feeling of despair.

It wasn’t for almost an hour, by Charles’ estimation, that he heard footsteps outside the door. The din of many voices permeated through the door, and Charles deduced that the meeting was about to start. Moment after the group passed by another set of footsteps, this time singular and soft, came down the hallway.

Charles held his breath as the door opened slowly and Erik stepped into the room.

The air between them felt charged with electricity, and Charles searched Erik’s face for any trace of passion or kindness. He was met with bleak, cold fury.  
“Erik,” he said, attempting a last ditch effort at saving himself.

Erik interrupted him, “I’m going to tell you exactly how this in going to go.” Erik’s voice was even and steady, but there was an edge of burning rage seeping into his tone. “I am going to torture you, and I am going to make it last excruciatingly long. Then, I am going to remove that inhibitor, and you are going to plant the seeds that will grow into World War Three. After that I am going to kill you, slowly and painfully. I want you to know, Charles, that I completely understand what I am about to do, and I am still going to do it. I’m going to kill you even though you love me, and I am going to kill you even though I love you.”

Something broke inside Charles then. He had been operating under the impression that Erik was not himself during his spells of rage, but this broke through that façade. Erik knew what he was doing, and he was going to enjoy it very much.

“Don’t do this, Erik. Think of how many mutants will die in this war.” Charles threw all hope of snapping Erik out of it with his love, instead turning to the one thing Erik had always chosen over Charles, his crusade.

“There are always casualties in war,” Erik replied and took a few steps closer to Charles.

“This time there will be no winner, no mutant uprising afterwards. We will be caught up in the throes of war and once it’s over there will be nothing left,” Charles’ voice took on an edge of desperation.

Erik looked down at Charles, his face painfully condescending, and he spoke with a smile on his face, “Either way, you are going to die today,” and with a wave of his hand the wheelchair beneath Charles shuddered apart, and Charles found himself on the ground, surrounded by floating pieces of jagged metal.

Charles made a last effort to scramble out of the way, but his useless legs prevented him from getting very far.

“Go into the minds of the men in the next room and start this war,” Erik said, and Charles felt a piece of metal pierce the soft flesh of his upper arm and tear through the muscle and sinew. He couldn’t remember if he screamed of not.

The inhibitor on his neck was pulled away by Erik’s powers, and all of the sudden all the voices came flooding back. For a moment all Charles could hear was Erik’s mind, twisted by rage and cruelty, every fiber of his being bent upon making Charles hurt. It was more painful than any physical injury to look into Erik’s head and see nothing but hate for Charles. There had always been a small part of Erik’s mind reserved for Charles, and it was one of the few bright spots in that still-beautiful mind, but now there was no ore light. Reading Erik’s mind was like gazing into a black hole, and it almost overwhelmed Charles.

But for the children, he looked past it.

Charles forced himself to wrench away from Erik’s mind. He could have stopped Erik, but Charles only had enough strength and control for one task, and the children had to come first. In tandem with a sliver of metal slicing through the tissue of his chest Charles reached out his mind and found the politicians. They were all so alike, their slightly twisted minds focusing on the most subtle way to further their own ideals while still getting reelected.

He entered the mind of every person in the room and focused on the ones who were most important, the President and military advisors. Charles took a deep breath and prepared himself to perform an act that went against every fiber of his being.

Charles had long since stopped paying attention to the room, and he would not have even noticed when the metal inside of him stilled and withdrew if it wasn’t paired with a voice he hadn’t heard in too many years. He withdrew from the politician’s minds and came back to himself to focus to on the room around him.

There was blood running in rivulets down Charles’ arms and chest, and he assumed the sticky feeling on his neck was another wound. Erik was standing in exactly the same place he had been before, but now there was a distinctly blue person standing in between him and Charles, and Charles connected the voice with the body the same time he entered her mind.

Erik no never this not Charles oh god so weak so old so small, she thought. Charles felt the pain and stress pouring from Raven’s mind, but her presence made him feel incandescently happy.

“Raven,” he tried to say, but his voice was quiet and weak.

Raven turned and glanced at him, cool concern in her eyes, before turning to face Erik once more. Charles realized she had placed herself in between Erik and himself to protect him.

“Erik this needs to stop,” she said with all the authority she could muster. Charles saw in her mind that she was terrified that Erik would not be able to be saved and she would be left alone with the Brotherhood surrounded by mutants who she had never had a normal conversation with. “We promised to never hurt another mutant unless the deserved it.”

“And he does,” Erik replied, his voice cold and calculating.

“No, he is Charles, and if you kill him you will never forgive yourself. Charles is the only person who ever understood you Erik, and he was the only person who ever had a prayer of stopping you. If you give that up, I will kill you,” Raven spoke with absolute conviction. Charles looked into her mind and saw how strong her belief in her and Erik’s ideals was. Raven wasn’t doing this for Charles, she was doing this because her and Erik had made a vow, and they were not about to break it because some enemy or another tried to force them to. They were the Brotherhood, and they did not compromise.

For one eternal moment, Charles gazed up at Raven, and he saw Erik doing the same. The world seemed to stand still for a small eternity, and once the moment ended Charles heard all the metal in the room fall to the floor. Raven let out a sigh of relief and Erik put his head in his hands.

Charles heard footsteps and suddenly Logan was standing in the doorway, looking at Charles with a mixture of disbelief and horror. His every instincts was screaming at him to grab Charles and run, or to jam his claws through Erik’s neck, but instead he glanced at Raven and spoke, “I think we got all of ‘em. What should we do?”

“Find Beast and tell him to run and get the jet, now!” she yelled, “And make damn sure there is no one left.” Logan nodded left the room after one last long look at Charles.

Erik was still standing and covering his face, and as Raven knelt down next to Charles and pressed a piece of fabric to one of his wounds Charles felt the shame and horror rolling across Erik’s mind in waves.

“I don’t blame you, old friend,” Charles forced through gritted teeth. He coughed wetly and pushed down a pained groan when Raven put pressure on a particularly sensitive wound.

Erik looked up at Charles and even someone who wasn’t a mind reader would have been able to see the pain and regret in his eyes. “Oh Charles, but you should.”  
“Quit wallowing in your misery and help me carry him out of here, Magneto. We will have time for heartfelt apologies and self-loathing once the Professor is in an infirmary,” Raven spoke with well-bred exasperation, but Charles felt the undercurrent of emotion and concern for both of them in her mind.

Thankfully Erik followed her order and formed a rustic gurney out of the pieces of the broken wheelchair. After the metal was relatively flat Erik set it next to Charles and, heartbreakingly tender, lifted him onto the sheet. Charles couldn’t stop a pained grunt from escaping his lips at the movement, and Erik’s face twisted in agony.

“Charles,” he said, obviously struggling for the right words.

“No,” Mystique said before Erik could open his mouth again. “Let’s go.”

Charles turned his head to the side so he could see around them. They passed more unconscious or dead guards than Charles could count, and he soon closed his eyes to the sickening violence laid out in front of him.

His eyes fluttered open when he felt, rather than heard, a crash from somewhere in the building. Raven held up a hand and listened, frowning when another, larger crash followed soon after. “I sent Wolverine and Buzz that direction after I found you to clear out any more guards.”

Charles locked eyes with Erik and nodded. “It’s Wale,” Erik said to Raven. She raised an eyebrow instead of answering. Charles watched the two of them with a bemused expression on his face. They acted like siblings, or an old married couple. “He was known to us as Crash.” At this Raven’s eyes widened with understanding. She and Erik looked at each other for another moment, and then the three of them set off back down the hall they had come from.

The sounds of destruction became increasingly loud and frequent as they neared the far end of the building. Charles pushed himself up to his elbow, with no small amount of effort, to survey the room.

The hall was in utter ruins, the floor torn into pieces and desks smashed into tinder. Logan was standing about twenty feet away from Franklin, who was wearing Erik’s helmet once more.

“Get that helmet off of him. No killing,” Charles said to Erik. Erik looked back at him, obviously adverse to the idea, but he nodded once, and Charles knew he wouldn’t break his word.

“You have something of mine, Crash,” Erik called out, drawing all the attention in the room to himself. Franklin turned to glare at him with a sneer on his face before slamming one of his feet on the ground. Erik raised Charles’ gurney off the ground as he summoned the metal in the room to form a shield from the debris. Raven vaulted out of the way with a series of impressive acrobatic movements.

Logan ran forward with a feral yell in the same moment Erik broke apart his shield with a sweep of his arms and flung a few chosen projectiles at Franklin. He batted the first two away as if they weighed nothing, but before he could brush aside the third Logan knocked him off balance and the piece of sheet metal hit him squarely in the chest. Erik kept Franklin trapped under the metal as he turned to look at Logan, and then deliberately at the helmet. Logan rolled him eyes, but he still stepped forward and removed the helmet from Franklin’s head.

It took Charles a split second to freeze Franklin, and Erik quickly removed the piece of metal and brought Charles gently back to the ground. “What do you want me to do with him?” Erik asked.

“You? Nothing. I will take care of him,” Charles replied. Erik’s eyes widened slightly, but he stepped aside and made no move to prevent Charles from accomplishing his task.

Charles delved into Franklin’s mind, examining all the inner working of his thoughts. Franklin had been the child of a single mother, but she had taken care of him just as well as two parents could have. She hadn’t stopped loving him when he manifested, but her new boyfriend had thrown him out of the house at age sixteen. That was the moment he grew to hate humans. He killed first at age eighteen, and in the subsequent years left behind a trail of bodies that eventually led him to the Brotherhood. It had been the first time he truly felt like he belonged. After the fiasco where he had been assumed dead his life was a hodge-podge of pain and confusion, rage and horror. Charles cringed internally at some of the experiments that had been performed on him. Finally, Charles looked into Franklin’s memories of the recent past, and all semblance of pity disappeared. Franklin was unforgiving to humans, but he also had no regard for people who had wronged him. He targeted Erik because Erik had left him, and then Charles because Charles would be the thing to break Erik. Franklin could have plausibly implemented his plan without either of them, but he found sick joy in making them suffer.

Charles dug deeper, past memory and feeling and into the technical controls of the mind. He rummaged around, pulling a few strings here and there, before withdrawing back into his own mind. Franklin looked about, obviously confused, before rolling onto his hands and knees and crawling slowly in a circle.

“What did you do to him, Charles?” Erik asked.

“I convinced him he is a three-toed sloth. He won’t be bothering any of us again.” Charles said. He felt a certain level of remorse for affecting a mind so greatly, but he also knew the alternative was let Erik kill Franklin, and Charles didn’t have the stomach for any more bloodshed.

Logan, Raven, and Erik looked at him with varying levels of fear, amusement, and what felt almost like pride.

“Now,” Charles said, “I would very much like to go home.”


	18. Erik

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this chapter, I would like to point to the 'happy ending' tag. That is all.

The ride back to the mansion was crowded and uncomfortable. There were too many mutants packed into the small space, and the smell of blood and sweat had fermented the air.

There had been no casualties on their side, though a few of Erik’s followers were sporting impressive cuts or bruises. Erik had laid Charles down on the floor, too apprehensive about his injuries to attempt moving him into a chair. Charles was being his usual self, denying that his wounds were any issue.

Hank had looked at Charles’ wounds with wide eyes. “Who did this to you?” he asked. 

Charles had glanced at Erik for a moment before responding, “The man who did this to me is gone.”

After Hank had ruled Charles’ injuries nonfatal, even though Erik could have said that himself, they lifted off and set course for Westchester. Erik sat in one of the seats without his belt on and held Charles’ hand. About an hour into the flight Charles had nodded off, but Erik held on tightly to his hand as if it were the only thing anchoring him in place. He got a few strange looks from the members of the Brotherhood, but Mystique looked at him knowingly and Wolverine simply rolled his eyes.

By the time they reached New York, Erik’s back was sore and he felt rather like having a nap himself. They landed on a pad that lowered into the sublevel of the mansion, and when they stepped out of the hangar and into the hallway Erik stopped in his tracks, hovering Charles on the metal sheet beside him.

There were dozens of bodies in the hallway. It looked as if someone had knocked out and tied up every single one of Wale’s men at the mansion and decided to store them in the basement. Erik gingerly stepped around any limbs obstructing the walkway and kept Charles out of the way of the men in case any of them woke up. As they neared the exit Erik started to hear voices.

“What are you going to do, little girl? Hit me? Something tells me you’re not too adept at torture.” Erik heard a cold male voice from around the corner. As he rounded it the speaker came into view, and the person he was speaking to.

Erik felt a strange twist in his chest at seeing the young mutant girl he had almost killed on Liberty Island. Rogue was her name. She was standing above a man who was tied up like the rest of the soldiers, except he was very much awake.

“No,” Rogue said to him, not noticing Erik and the others’ presence, “I’m not a torturer, or a murderer. You see, I’m not like you. However, you hurt me, and you hurt people I love, and you killed Will. So no, I’m not going to hit you. I’m going to do this.” Rogue reached forward with her bare hand and touched the man’s forehead lightly.

His body immediately became taut and a strange gasping noise came out of his mouth. Erik watched in frozen fascination as she slowly drained the life out of him.

“Rogue, stop!” Charles said. Erik had nearly forgotten Charles was there. The girl turned and abruptly pulled her arm away. The man slumped to the ground, unconscious. She looked terrified and extremely guilty for a moment before she realized who had spoken.

She spared a single disgusted glance in Erik’s direction before practically sprinting down the hallway. “Professor!” she called out with breathless joy. “I’m so glad you’re here.” She reached Charles’ side and took his hand, her eyes widening when she saw his wounds.

Rogue glanced at Erik suspiciously, and he felt uncomfortably guilty that her assumption he was the one who hurt Charles was exactly right. Her reaction reminded him that Charles needed to be taken to the infirmary immediately and treated for his wounds.

Erik started down the hallway and brought Charles along with him. Rogue followed alongside Charles and Erik glanced back to see the rest of the people from the jet trailing behind. “Beast,” Erik said, “Come with me to the infirmary. The rest of you wait in the mansion until I return. I’m sure the X-Men will be excellent hosts.” He said it with a sneer, but he knew his people would not be turned away. They all nodded, and Erik entered the elevator with Charles, Beast, and Rogue, leaving his people to find their own way.

Thankfully the infirmary in the mansion was close by the elevator and they had no more interruptions in getting Charles to where Hank could deal with his wounds.

Erik helped Hank shift Charles from the metal gurney onto one of the dozen generic hospital beds in the wide room. A few of the beds were occupied by children sporting bandages and splints. Charles’ face visibly crumpled at the sight of the injured children.

One of the more audacious students, her leg in a cast, spoke to him, “Professor! We got to fight with Kitty and Rogue and Peter. We got all of the bad guys, even though a few of us got hurt, too.” She looked absolutely thrilled at the prospect of her broken leg.

“I’m glad you’re all okay, Mary,” Charles replied. The girl’s face fell, and Erik saw a few of the other children avert their eyes. He remembered what Rogue had said to the man, about how he had killed someone. Charles may not have heard. “What happened?” Charles said, sorrow creeping into his tone.

A different student spoke up, and boy with a bandage across his chest. “The bad man killed Will,” he said, “He shot him in the head,” his voice had dropped to a whisper and he let out a sob.

Erik glanced at Charles to see tears welling in his eyes. Charles loved nothing more than he loved his students, and that man had murdered one of the children for all the others to see. Erik was suddenly very disappointed Charles hadn’t let Rogue kill the man in the basement, he had half a mind to go back and finish the job himself. A mutant child was dead because of one man’s greed and another’s cruelty.

“Rogue,” Charles murmured to the girl, “Go to Storm and tell her we will have a funeral for Will tomorrow morning.” Rogue nodded solemnly and left the room without another word. The rest of the children had fallen silent, and Erik was fairly sure none of them would be quick to speak up again.

Hank got to work on Charles’ injuries and Erik used his power to draw a chair to the side of Charles’ bed. They didn’t speak while Hank cleaned the cuts and sewed up the deeper gashes, but every once in a while Charles would look over and meet Erik’s eyes. Erik had given up keeping his thoughts from Charles many years ago without his helmet. No one in the world knew him better than Charles, he had seen the best and worst of Erik over the years. Erik filled his head with all the thoughts of comfort and affection and apology he could muster and pushed it all Charles’ way as Charles had taught him years before.

Charles looked back at him with unmeasurable feeling, and even though his every wince and grunt of pain brought on another wave of guilt, Charles never stopped sending thoughts of love Erik’s way. They were caught in a cycle of overwhelming emotion, and the entire room blurred out of sight.

Time passed with every second housing a small eternity. Erik was snapped out of it when Hank told them he was all finished. There was a certain feeling of loss when Charles turned his attention to Hank and Hank’s instructions for the injuries. However, Erik still felt a soft glow of affection in his mind, and he knew Charles was still in his head even though he had come back to reality. Erik realized for the first time that at some point he had taken Charles’ hand, and Charles was holding onto his tightly.

“If Erik takes me on the stretcher, can I move through the mansion?” Charles voice broke through Erik’s reverie.

Hank shook his head slightly, “You shouldn’t move until at least tomorrow, and even then little to no movement would be preferred.” Charles nodded and squeezed Erik’s hand like he was scared of Erik letting go.

“Can you bring Scott, Jean, Logan, and Ororo to me?” Charles asked Hank. He left the room in a similar manner to Rogue, silently and without question.

“It is admirable, the loyalty you inspire,” Erik said lightly.

“It’s not just loyalty, Erik, it’s love. These people are my family,” Charles held Erik’s eyes as he said the words and Erik got the feeling he wasn’t just speaking about his students and his team. They sat in comfortable silence, Erik occasionally stroking Charles’ knuckles with his thumb, until the X-Men arrived in the room. Erik raised his eyebrows when Mystique filed in after the other four, but she merely shrugged her shoulders at his questioning look.

“How are you, professor?” Storm said, immediately kneeling down on the side of the bed opposite Erik. The rest of them gathered around, and Erik started to feel claustrophobic and out of place. He was just about to stand and move over to where Mystique was observing the reunions a few feet away, but Charles tightened his grip on Erik’s hand. Without missing a beat in his conversation with Storm Charles spoke into Erik’s mind. 

Please don’t, Erik. Stay by me. 

Erik did not have the strength to resist, and instead of moving away he shifted closer to Charles, putting some space between himself and Wolverine.

“What should we do with the men in our basement?” Cyclops said when Erik turned his attention back to the conversation. Apparently they had finished with the pleasantries and moved on to business.

“We are going to load them into the X-Jet and fly them to an abandoned area far away from here. Then, the nearest police department will receive an anonymous tip about an illegal military outfit in upstate New York.” Charles tapped his temple, “And they will be thoroughly convinced of the necessity that the men and women be immediately incarcerated.”

It was a sound plan, but it would take some time and manpower, and the jet would likely have to take more than one trip to deliver all the soldiers to their destination. They would need help, and Erik realized what was happening just before Charles turned his head to speak.

“Would the members of the Brotherhood here be willing to offer their assistance?” Charles asked. Erik was about to answer when Mystique’s voice stopped him.

“Yes,” she said, sounding absolutely sure of herself, “We’ll help you round them up and transport them. If we use both our jets it shouldn’t take more than one trip. Then we will be on our way.” Charles nodded at her, obviously pleased.

“Thank you Mystique,” he said softly, and Erik knew he was trying to express a plethora of emotion in those few words. From the slight shift in Mystique’s features it seemed as if the message got across. “Now,” Charles continued, addressing his entire team, “If you would like to begin, we can have all of these intruders out of our house long before morning.

As Hank had tended to Charles’ wounds the day had slipped into early evening. Both of their teams were going to have a long night ahead of them. On any other day Erik would have gone to assist on a mission without hesitation, but he knew Charles didn’t want him to leave. The X-Men left the room promptly, but Mystique lingered.

“What is it?” Erik asked. Mystique wouldn’t delay a mission unless it was absolutely vital.

“I need to know if you’re going to come with us,” she said. Erik understood her curiosity, he usually came along to make sure a mission moved along smoothly.

“You and your brothers and sisters can deal with this without me. I will see you upon your return,” he replied, expecting her to exit the room at his obvious dismissal. To his surprise, she took a step closer. Charles was glancing between them with a strange expression on his face, and Erik knew Charles had already read Mystique’s mind, and the dread in Charles’ eyed caused Erik’s stomach to drop.

“Erik,” Mystique said, and Erik narrowed his eyes. She only called him by his given name when she wished to speak of a matter of utmost importance. “Are you going to come back with us to the base after this mission is over?”

“Of course I am, Mystique, our mission is hardly at its end,” Erik said without thinking much of it. Leaving the Brotherhood had not even crossed his mind. It took a moment for Erik to grasp what he had said, coming to the realization at the same time Charles released his hand. Erik knew the conversation they had to have was best held in private, so he was grateful when Mystique nodded and hurried out of the room having gotten her answer. He used his power to draw the privacy curtain around the bed to shield them from any curious children. “Charles,” Erik started, not quite sure what to say.

“It’s quite alright, Erik. I’ve lived without you for years, it would have been foolish for me to expect you to stay with me now,” Charles said. Erik saw in Charles’ eyes that he never truly did think Erik was going to stay, but it hurt no less to hear Erik say he was leaving.

“I’m sorry, old friend,” Erik replied, “My work is not done.”

“And I fear it never will be,” Charles said, “But on the off-chance you somehow find yourself content with the state of the world, you know where to find me.” Charles didn’t say it, but Erik got the gist that Charles would always hold on hope of Erik coming back to him, however unlikely. He had probably been hoping for Erik to return for the better part of fifty years, all too often being disappointed. It hurt like a physical wound, the pain Charles was in, but Erik’s mind was made up.

“I can stay for tonight,” Erik said. They had little left between them but the pieces of a complicated love and years of built up resentment, but they did have that night. Charles nodded and shifted over on the bed. He sent Erik a mental image of Erik lying next to him. “I don’t want to hurt any of your wounds.”

“We’ll be careful,” Charles replied with an almost cheeky grin. Erik rolled his eyes, but he sat down on the bed before stretching out facing Charles. They laid in silence, staring into each other’s eyes for an immeasurable period of time. Charles mentally requested entry into Erik’s mind, and Erik uncharacteristically allowed him in.

Their thoughts tangled together in a lazy swirl, and Erik took in all of Charles contentment, love, disappointment, and pain as Charles did the same. It was a unique experience, and Erik had never felt closer to anyone than he did in that moment, their connection so much stronger than any physical touch could possibly allow.

At some point their foreheads fell together, and Erik intertwined their hands together between their chests. It was like that they fell asleep, and just before Erik slipped off he thought of all he had missed of Charles’ life, and how he wished they could have a precious few of those years back. 

He slept better than he had in longer than he could remember.


	19. Charles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since it is my birthday today, I will act in the style of the Hobbits and give a gift to all of you. I will post one chapter this morning and another this afternoon. Enjoy!

When he woke up, Erik was gone.

It was entirely expected, and Charles knew any sort of goodbye they would have had would only have served to open up emotional scars and leave them both hurting more than before, but he still resented Erik for denying him the courtesy.

The curtain had been pulled aside and Charles saw the morning light filtering in through the infirmary window. He was the first one awake, and the sight of the children sleeping peacefully brought a fond smile to his lips.

It also reminded him of what was scheduled for that morning.

Charles knew every child at his school. He knew not only their faces, but also their minds. For many of them, he was some of the only family they ever truly had, and they were all the family he had ever needed. Charles couldn’t bring himself to even think about leaving the school.

Suddenly Erik’s decision seemed much more understandable.

Charles brushed off thoughts of Erik in favor of thinking about the poor child who had lost his life. There were actually three boys named William currently enrolled in the school, but Charles had lifted from the minds of the students that the deceased was Will Foley, a teenager who’d had a penchant for mischief and bright blue eyes that were hard to forget. He had been popular and quick to foolishness and so utterly full of life, and that had been taken from him, from all of them.

Will was not the first student he had lost, and likely would not be the last, but that did not stop the horrible weight of grief from settling over Charles’ chest. And, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself otherwise, he grieved for the loss of Erik, too.

Charles had lost Erik more times than he cared to remember, and every time it opened up a fresh wound only healed by time and the comfort of his student. This time Charles knew it was going to be much harder to push the feelings away.

Distractions were the best way to ignore feelings, and although attending a funeral was the last thing Charles wanted to do, he knew it was necessary. Not only for himself, but for every child who had seen their classmate die.

Charles turned his head to see his chair positioned conveniently by his bedside. Someone must have gotten it for him some time during the night. Charles stifled a groan as he forced himself into a sitting position and the movement pulled on his stitches. He gingerly shifted onto the wheelchair, every part of his body aching and bruised. Charles took a moment to catch his breath, silently praising the invention of the electric wheelchair, and then exited the infirmary.

He reached out with his mind and found Scott, Jean, Ororo, and Hank all gathered in his study. Logan was still on campus, but from what Charles could glean from his mind he did not want to be disturbed. Charles took the fasted route to the study, and when he entered he could tell even without his telepathy that his team had been waiting for him to come.

“Good morning, professor,” Jean said with a soft smile. Charles nodded back at her and turned to Storm.

“Is everything ready?” he asked, knowing she would grasp his meaning.

Storm’s expression became solemn. “Logan and Hank buried Will last night after we finished transporting the last of the soldiers. It will take a while to get a headstone, but we placed him underneath one of the big oak trees and Logan carved into the trunk to mark the grave.” Charles realized now the reason Logan was aimlessly wandering, and when he peeked into Hank’s mind he found nothing but deep sadness and shaky relief for the end of their ordeal.

“Thank you for that. We can gather the children in an hour and hold a short ceremony for him, and they will be given the weekend to grieve. We should also tell any students who want to talk about it are welcome to come speak too one of us at any time. On Monday, classes with resume according to schedule. Scott, organize for any damages we cannot fix on our own to be repaired. Soon enough everything will go back to the way it was.” Charles knew it would be hard for a few weeks, but although grief can be persistent, the human brain was made to forget. The students would return to their normal routine, learning and playing. The X-Men would add a name to the list of students who were gone but never forgotten, children who were lost long before their time, but in time their pain would also fade away.

One of the side-effects of Charles telepathy was that he had an eidetic memory. He never forgot a fact, a face, or a name. It was very useful back during his Oxford days and came in handy more than once over the years. However, it also meant that pain never really faded away. He was very good at compartmentalizing, and often he could go for a very long time without thinking of an event or person that had brought him pain, but it never lasted forever. Any reminder caused him to relive the moment, every detail in place in his mind, the agony as sharp as it had been that first time.

Charles had never been able to forget, but he could ease the process for those around them. He would never erase a person from their memories for the sake of their happiness, but he could influence them with subtle feelings of calm, he could take on some of their pain. Helping his students, his children, always made him feel better.

The X-Men had left the room to wake the children and prepare for the funeral. They knew when to give Charles his space, and any situation Erik was involved in caused them to tiptoe around him for days afterwards. Charles never blamed anyone for their thoughts, but he often grew irritated with the level of pity directed his way. He had never needed pity, not when he was a young man in his twenties who had just been paralyzed, and not when his oldest friend left him for the umpteenth time.

They would go back to running the school, and soon enough the events of the past week would feel like they had never happened. Charles left his study to go to his bedroom to change into more appropriate clothing for a funeral. His week-old, ripped, bloodstained suit was hardly what he wanted the children to see of his return.

Changing was a production, but after a few minutes of groaning, hissing, and swearing, Charles was dressed in a simple black suit. He looked into the minds of some of the students and saw that they were heading towards the big oak tree. The ceremony was about to begin.

After Charles was paralyzed he’d had the mansion made wheelchair accessible, including the grounds. There were smooth paths leading every which way, and Charles joined the throngs of children making their way down one of the paths to the grove of trees on the east end of the campus.

It was a beautiful place, and Charles knew that when his own time came he wanted to be buried there as well. The students parted way for him, and he settled himself a few feet away from the mound of earth beneath the largest tree in the grove.

Ororo started speaking, and Charles elected to follow the feel and cadence of her emotions in her mind rather than the words coming out of her mouth. The sorrow in the minds of all the children swelled to a crescendo, and Charles could not pick out individual thoughts or emotions, only the combined mass of their grief. It was strangely cathartic, becoming lost in their pain, because it allowed Charles to forget about his own, if only for a while.

The ceremony lasted almost an hour. A few students who had been particularly close to Will laid a flower on his grave. Kitty, Peter, Rogue, and Bobby, hobbling across the gnarled ground on crutches, followed after Will’s friends to pay their respects. Over the course of the week the four of them had grown in ways they shouldn’t have had to, but Charles could tell they were all going to become stronger because of it. Soon enough they would be full-fledged X-Men, and Charles felt a swell of pride. It was comforting to know his school and his team had a stable future.

Soon enough the children started to break away and wander back in the direction of the mansion. A few of the students lingered for a few minutes longer, but they too filtered away, Scott, Jean, and Hank following, leaving Charles with Ororo. Charles had sensed Logan lingering a few dozen yards away from the burial site, watching the ceremony unseen.

“Are you coming, Professor? We’re all going to have a late breakfast together in the large dining hall,” On a normal day the students took their meals in the smaller dining rooms and kitchens scattered throughout the mansion, but if any day called for unity, it was that one.

“I’ll be inside soon, I would like a moment alone.” Ororo gave him a lingering look tinged with sadness, and Charles studiously stayed out of her head. She turned away after a few beats of silence and set a quick pace for the house.

Charles watched her return, only turning around when she was inside. He faced the grave and reveled in the feeling of aloneness. Even in his own bedroom there were always minds calling out to him from every direction, but there on the grounds it was easy to bring in his range and allow himself some peace of mind.

He didn’t say anything, electing to gaze at the mark carved into the tree and become lost in his thoughts. The loss of a mind, especially a young one, always left him feeling empty. He didn’t keep track of how long he stayed in the grove, only noticing the hour when the light of the sun visibly shifted. Breakfast was long over.

Hours must have passed, so Charles was hardly surprised when he felt a mind approaching. With some slight delving he discovered Hank had come looking for him. However, he had not been sent by Ororo as Charles had suspected. Charles waited for him to speak.

“Do you remember, fifty years ago, when you were in the hospital after Cuba?” Hank said, his voice hesitant.

“Of course I do, Hank,” Charles replied and turned his head away from the grave. Hank was gazing at him intently with a mixture of concern and concentration, like he was analyzing Charles’ every move. Charles was unsure why Hank would bring up that time in his life now, but he allowed Hank time to formulate his own thoughts and continue his line of thought.

“We did everything we could to make you feel better. Sean and Alex, and even Moira, we did our best to help,” Charles winced when Hank mentioned his first students. He still regretted his inability to protect them. Hank continued, “Nothing we did helped you. I wanted so badly to make everything better, but no matter what I said you still had that same horrible empty look in your eyes.” Charles waited patiently for Hank to get to his point. “I can see that same look in your eyes now.”

Charles knew Hank had already drawn his conclusions and made his observations. A mind like his only developed theories after he had thoroughly exhausted all possible options. There was no point in telling Hank he was alright, because Hank knew he was anything but.

“Back then it took time to heal, and this time will be no different. Soon enough it will all fade,” Charles said, looking back towards the big oak tree.

“We both know that’s not true, Charles. It took you over a decade until you were in a healthy place, and I know you still feel the loss. Just promise me it won’t stop you from doing what you love.” Hank had moved forward until he was standing next to Charles’ chair, and Charles could tell form his mind he was focused on the grave and all the other students they could still protect.

“The school comes first. It always has,” Charles replied simply and honestly. Hank put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed lightly, and Charles thought back to the times when Hank had been the only person he still had to hold on to. He sent a wordless feeling of gratitude into Hank’s mind and smiled at the familiar affection he received in return.

Hank gave his shoulder one last pat, and then turned away from Charles to go to the mansion. In the morning, he would return to Washington, D. C. to continue fighting the fight for mutants. He had made Charles so proud to be his friend.

Charles didn’t depart from the shadow of the oak tree until the sun had set.


	20. Cyclops

Something was wrong with the professor.

Scott had been thinking the same thing every day in the six months since the incident in Denver. On the surface, everything at the school had gone back to normal. Classes resumed, the students grieved and healed together, and the faculty pushed to make sure every student received the proper help and care. Peter, Bobby, Kitty, and Rogue had started to train with the X-Men, and the former three had taken to calling themselves Colossus, Iceman, and Shadowcat, respectively.

It was all going according to plan. Deceptively so, in fact. Scott had never felt like the school was so absolutely under control.

There had been no activity in the news, other than minor reports on changes to laws applying to mutants and a few scattered hate crimes across the country. The Brotherhood had not been active at all, at least not in any detectable or newsworthy ways.

But what made Scott the most nervous wasn’t the inevitability of the Brotherhood mounting some sort of attack, but how the professor had been acting in the past six months.

At first it had seemed normal, everyone was mourning Will, and Scott and the other adults were mourning the death of the children’s innocence. The professor was much more reserved than normal, and he often took hour long trips out to the grave in the grove, and Scott had attributed it to grief.

It became apparent after a month or so that he was not back to normal. The children slowly came back into themselves, and Scott and his team made it through their grief together. The professor simply drew back into himself, only seeming like his old self when he was teaching.

To the students it wasn’t obvious, and Scott understood. Charles wanted them to be oblivious to his pain because if they knew the people they looked up to as heroes were just as scared and damaged as everyone else their hope would quickly slip away. The professor still taught his classes and attended to the children and helped some of the more volatile students control their emotions and their powers.

But the professor no longer had long conversations with Ororo about mutant politics in the study. He stopped assisting Jean with her telepathy, leaving them to train on their own. He started delegating responsibilities to Scott he would have usually handled himself. Slowly but surely Charles was withdrawing from the life he had built for himself, and there was nothing Scott could do to stop it.

Scott was far from ready to take over the school, even with the help of Jean and Storm. He voiced his concerns to Jean late one night, when they were lying in their bed, and he realized she was just as scared as he was.

“What do you do when the person who has always helped everyone around them needs help?” Jean whispered.

Scott could only think of one solution, “You find the person who they consider an equal.” Even as the words left his mouth he curled his lip in distaste.

“He’s the reason the professor is like this in the first place!” Jean’s voice rose to the point where anyone in the next room could probably hear her through the walls.

“We don’t have a choice, Jean. We can’t just sit back and watch him waste away because we don’t want to let him go. He taught us to never be so selfish.” It burned Scott to say it, but they couldn’t help the professor on their own. “We have to find some way to contact Magneto.”

“Leave that to me. Now, we should get some sleep,” Jean said as she turned over and nestled into the pillows. Scott slept in fitful bursts, spending most of his night listening to Jean’s steady breathing. In the morning he felt tired and sore, but no less determined.

It was a Saturday, so the children were scattered throughout the mansion enjoying their leisure time, and the professor was holed up in his room. They had stopped attempting to coax him out after the second month. Scott met Jean in the lower level after making sure they wouldn’t be missed or followed.

“Are you sure about this?” He asked, obviously worried.

“We have no other choice, Scott. I can do this.” Jean squared her shoulders and used the verbal override the professor had given to her to open Cerebro in his absence. She strode across the bridge with purpose and Scott followed slightly behind her, doubt nagging at his mind.

“If anything goes wrong, you tell me right away, okay?” he said.

Jean took his hand and squeezed it before kissing him lightly on the cheek. “I promise.” Scott huffed out a deep breath and took a step back as Jean knelt down and placed the helmet on her head. After a moment Jean’s eyes flew open and the room fell away around them.

The astral projection was fuzzy, nothing like the professor’s, but Scott could still make out the red figures representing the world’s mutants. Scott started to feel dizzy as Jean focused her telepathy on different parts of the globe, known and suspected Brotherhood hideouts and anywhere connected to Magneto.

Scott knew Jean wouldn’t be able to hold on for long, and her stillness and absolute silence started to worry him after a few minutes had passed. He was on the verge of ripping the helmet off her head when she gasped and one of the red figures came into sharp focus.

“I’ve got Mystique,” Jean said breathlessly. Scott recognized the projection, and Mystique seemed to be injured, heaving and screwing up her face in pain.

“What’s happening, Jean?” Scott wanted to get her out of Cerebro as soon as possible.

“They organized an ambush… something went wrong… they lost so much.” Scott saw the projected Mystique stumble back from a blow and with one last gasp Jean returned to herself. The room materialized around them and Scott gently lifted the helmet off her head and placed it on its stand.

“Are you alright?” Scott asked.

Jean took a moment to catch her breath before she spoke. “I’m going to be fine, the Brotherhood, on the other hand, may not be. The attack they planned went awry. Mystique has been hurt, and many of the mutants they brought along are dead. I could tell from her mind that Magneto is among the missing. We have to get to the professor.” Scott nodded and took Jean’s hand, leading her back across the bridge and through the lower level. Thankfully, there were no children outside the elevator and they hurried towards the professor’s room without being questioned.

The mansion seemed impossibly large as they rushed to find the professor, passing more than one confused student in their haste. Jean knocked lightly on the professor’s bedroom door once they reached it, both of them trying to steady their breathing.

After a moment with no answer, Jean knocked again, her expression twisting into a frown. Scott’s impatience boiled over, and he stepped forward and opened the door. The room was a mess, clothes strewn about and more than one dirty plate or glass lying about.

Scott picked through the refuse and glanced into the bathroom, finding it similarly empty. “Professor?” he said, suddenly unsure.

“He’s not here,” Jean said from behind him.

“I can see that, but where is he? The study? The library?” Scott kicked a shoe out of the way and looked up at Jean. She had her hands pressed to her temples and her face screwed up in concentration.

“No Scott, he’s not here. He’s gone.” Jean let her hands fall to her sides and her expression smoothed over.

“Is he coming back?” Scott asked, juvenile fear gnawing at his stomach.

“I don’t know,” Jean whispered in reply.


	21. Erik

Erik had always thought himself well-versed in the art of forgetting. He had let all his bad decisions, all the people he lost, all the distractions of life fall out of his head. Charles had simply been one of those things. Erik had spent a lifetime forgetting Charles, and he was just realizing that the opposite was true.

Returning with the Brotherhood had been a painful decision, but an easy one. Erik was not the domestic type. The students and teachers at Charles’ school would never accept him, and he would lose his sanity if he were forced to sit on his hands while the mutant war was still raging. For him, there was no choice.

But, in the months since he extricated himself from Charles in that hospital bed and left without a goodbye, he had been restless. He and Mystique had conferred and decided to keep a low profile for a while, rotating safe houses every couple of weeks and monitoring the media for any mutant-related news.

The attack in NYC was the first large-scale event the HAM had held since Wale destroyed their office in Denver. It was a convention filled with every single high ranking, mutant-hating member of their organization. The opportunity was too good to pass up.

Erik had organized one of the largest scale attacks in the Brotherhood’s history, hand picking mutants from all around the world. He thought he had gathered more mutants than strictly necessary, that it would be simple to make their point.

He was wrong.

The members of the convention must have expected an attack, and they were prepared. Their security was decked out in plastic weaponry and mutation inhibitors. Whoever had developed Wale’s technology must have had multiple customers. Mystique’s team was routed and many were killed, and Erik’s team started to flee as soon as they realized they were completely outgunned. Erik had tried to complete the mission and bring the entire building down around them, but he had been shot in the side before he could do any real damage. He stumbled out of the building after expending his energy pulling at a few key steel supports in the walls.

He never saw if it went down.

The Brotherhood had a hideout in the city, a nondescript basement apartment only to be used during missions in the area. Erik made it there through a combination of flying over backed up traffic and shuffling down the sidewalk, knocking people out of his way.

He was sure the nightly news would have a field day. Somehow he made it to the house without being stopped or losing consciousness, and it took a ridiculous amount of concentration for him to turn the delicate tumblers of the lock and enter the apartment.

It smelled musty from misuse and there was a layer of dust on every surface. Erik stumbled through the rooms until he reached the bedroom with a single cot pushed up against the wall. He almost chuckled at the resemblance to his cell in Wale’s compound.

Erik had dealt with many bullet wounds, but the combination of the blood loss and exhaustion brought on from using his powers left him too weak to do anything but fall onto the cot and hope he didn’t die in his sleep. Just before he lost consciousness he removed his helmet and thought absently if Charles’ range extended into the city.

When he woke up he wasn’t alone.

Erik could tell form the foul taste in his mouth and the feeling in his head that he had been out for a few hours at least. There was a figure sitting next to his bed, but Erik’s vision was blurred by pain and dizziness. He assumed it was another mutant who had escaped the convention and remembered the safe house in the city, and even though Erik usually would have chastised them for their familiarity, he had no more energy to resume the role of Magneto. He felt, rather than saw, the person unbutton his shirt and expose the bullet wound in his right side.

The person mumbled something incoherent. Erik hissed when probing hands felt out the wound, and the soreness stayed as they began to clean the area with a wet cloth. He was content to let them work, hoping they had found the medical supplies in one of the kitchen cabinets when a voice in his head sounded, clear as day.

Erik, you are a fool. 

The words were harsh, but they were tinged with worry and fondness that felt strangely familiar.

“Charles?” Erik croaked, blinking rapidly in an attempt to clear his vision. With a little concentration the figure at the side of the cot came into focus and Erik found himself faced with an extremely disapproving professor.

“Well, at least you’re lucid,” Charles said, turning his attention back to Erik’s torso.

“How did you find me?” Erik asked, his sluggish mind trying to catch up with the situation. Charles tapped his temple and smiled slightly.

“I didn’t think amnesia was a side effect of a flesh wound.” Erik remembered briefly that he had taken his helmet off. He took a moment to marvel at the fact that Charles could hear his mind from miles away.

“Your range has improved, old friend,” Erik said, voice still thick with exhaustion. Charles chuckled.

“The reach of your powers has grown as well. That convention center is currently a rather impressive pile of rubble.” Charles sounded both disapproving and impressed. The contradictions in the man were boundless.

Erik allowed himself a moment of satisfaction for completing the mission even with the odds against them. Thinking of the fight at the convention center brought another problem to the forefront of his mind. “Charles, is there anyone else here?”

“No, but Mystique is being treated under the guise of a working father of three at the Lower Manhattan Hospital. I located two others called Buzz and Lux as they were fleeing the city to an upstate safe house. Those are the only three whose minds I recognized and could locate in a city of this size.” Charles was obviously frustrated by his uselessness, but Erik was content in knowing Mystique was alright.

“The rest can take care of themselves. I was expecting to have a few losses mounting an attack of this magnitude.” Charles made a noncommittal humming noise and examined the wound closer. 

“Erik, I’m going to have to extract the bullet now,” Charles said. Erik nodded. Charles handed Erik his belt to bite on before taking hold of Erik’s right hand in his left and squeezing. Unfortunately, anesthetic was not included in the standard Brotherhood safe house first aid kit, so Erik would have to muddle through the pain.

He concentrated intently on the feeling of leather beneath his teeth and gave Charles’ hand one last squeeze before using both his hands to clutch the sheets. Erik heard the clinking of metal instruments and squeezed his eyes shut. He had never liked to watch.

Charles made two precise incisions, and Erik bit down hard. It was always a unique and excruciating pain to feel forceps moving inside your flesh. Erik moaned and clenched his fists tighter. It was over blessedly quickly, and he heard the clicking sound of the plastic bullet against a metal dish. Charles dressed the wound, occasionally nudging Erik this way or that so he could wrap gauze around his waist. Soon the pain had faded to a dull but persistent ache and Erik felt much more alert.

“Why are you here, Charles? I’ve been injured many times before,” Erik said as he carefully pushed himself to a sitting position. Once he was situated and his pain was back down to a manageable level he turned his gaze on Charles. He had rolled his wheelchair up against the bed, and Erik had absolutely no idea how he had managed to navigate the apartment, or how he had even gotten in, for that matter.

“The door was unlocked,” Charles said in answer to his thought, ignoring his verbal question. Erik gave him a look until Charles sighed in defeat. “May I?” he asked, raising two fingers to his temples in a nostalgically familiar gesture. Erik nodded his consent.

Erik closed his eyes and attempted to relax. It was always difficult for him to put his walls down, and even though he trusted Charles more than any single person on the planet, it still made him feel much too vulnerable. Charles kept out of the more guarded parts of Erik’s mind, even though he was intimately familiar with many of the memories locked away. Instead of delving in, Charles created a link between them and sent a series of memories into Erik’s head.

At first, it was all familiar. Charles remembered shared times from their youth when Erik was jaded and Charles was naïve and somehow it made them fit together perfectly. Erik smiled softly, waiting patiently for Charles to arrive upon the answer to Erik’s question.

The memories shifted to immediately after Cuba, and Erik felt a sharp jab of pain, both Charles’ and his own, at the havoc his carelessness had wreaked. Erik felt Charles focus specifically on the emotions, the deep feelings that had consumed him at that time, before sending Erik a completely unfamiliar memory.

It was obviously recent, and Erik saw Charles gazing at an old gnarled oak tree. The scenery was innocent enough, but Erik clearly felt the aching pain echoing through Charles’ mind. It felt exactly the same as those first few months after Cuba, and Erik realized exactly what Charles was feeling. It was heartbreak.

“Why this time, Charles? Why come to me now and not thirty years ago? Or a decade before that?” Erik said out loud. He had found and left Charles in his life many times over the years, and Charles had never told him not to go or sought him out after they parted.

Charles met his eyes, and Erik could feel their mental link pulsing gently on the edges of his awareness. “You know, I had never been in love before I met you off the coast of Miami. I had thought I had been in love, but anything before was nothing compared to the intensity of what I felt with you. And, as a telepath, knowing not only you but the entirety of your mind intensified the emotions for me. That day in Cuba was the worst day of my life, but you know what the worst part was? Not losing my legs, not even Raven leaving, because I had known she was going to leave the nest eventually. No, it was when you left me, after crippling me, and never even returned to see if I was alright. You left me as if you had never loved me, and that is why it hurt so badly, because I then assumed you never had.” Erik already knew all Charles said from the memories he had seen, but it still ignited a soldering ache in the center of his chest to imagine Charles’ pain.

Erik took Charles’ hand in both of his and brought it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. “I’m sorry, Charles, I truly am. You should know I did love you, in my own way, I simply thought I had no room in my life for love. I didn’t think I deserved any good in my life.”

“I know that now,” Charles said, “And that’s why when you left six month ago I could hardly bear it. Over the years, we met as old friends, and so every time you left I took it for what it was, an amiable parting of ways. Somehow I found my way back through the hurt of fifty years ago and found that love again, and it left me feeling bereft and empty when I woke up without you. But this time I didn’t have the harsh comfort of believing you didn’t reciprocate. I couldn’t just let it go.”

Erik understood without Charles having to express it that he had never expected to say any of this. “There is a safe house in the Adirondacks,” Erik said, surprising himself. Charles looked up with an expression not unlike hope. “I had it made under the guise of a strategic base, but it is where I go when I need a break from the life I lead,” Erik paused. Charles knew what he was offering, but it needed to be said. “You could still visit that school of yours.”

It was practically an invitation, but Charles still looked at him expectantly. For fifty years Charles had sat patiently as Erik drifted in and out of his life, leaving behind more scars than he healed, and he needed Erik to be the one making the concession this time. Erik had never been one to admit defeat, but this time it felt strangely like victory.

“Come with me, Charles.” Erik said, and the words lifted a weight off his chest that had been constricting his ribcage since that bullet entered Charles’ spine fifty years before.

“I would follow you anywhere, old friend,” Charles replied, and Erik realized it was absolutely true.

Erik felt a sudden flood of fondness and love enter his mind, and he smiled at the sensation instead of recoiling. He moved gingerly from where he was leaned up against the wall to sit in front of Charles. Erik placed his legs on either side of one of Charles’, causing their knees to knock together lightly. Even though Erik knew Charles couldn’t feel it, he still smiled up at Erik at the contact.

Erik felt, ridiculously, like a teenager, brimming with nervous energy. Charles reached his arm across the scant space between them and pressed two fingers to Erik’s temple. The memories Charles had shared with his a moment before had been fleeting impressions, meant to demonstrate past emotions and thoughts. What Erik saw then was a thousand times more intense.

He found himself in a completely different room. It was a strangely familiar motel room, and as Erik glanced around he realized he and Charles, as they were fifty years before, had just walked through the door.

Erik could still feel Charles’ fingers on his temple and his knee’s against Erik’s, but there was no other indication the memory was anything other than real. He watched in amazement as all the pieces of the picture clicked into place, the motel room, the time, his younger self and Charles’ obvious inebriation. Erik knew exactly what Charles was showing him.

“That is absolutely not true,” young Charles said, his words slurred and a giddy smile on his face. Erik had a sneaking suspicion it was due to his younger self guiding Charles through the room with a hand placed on his lower back.

“Even without Shaw’s interference, The United States and Russia would have eventually reached the point of nuclear war themselves. There is simply too much bad blood and suspicion between them.” It was startling to hear his own voice, clear and ringing with confidence. Erik vaguely remembered the debate they had been having.

“The people of this earth have more sense than to go around destroying it,” Charles said, and Erik had the same reaction as his younger self, a slightly mocking snort.

The other Erik turned around once he was fully inside the room and took a deliberate step closer to Charles, so they were only another step apart. “You are heartbreakingly naïve,” he said with a slow smile. Erik realized now how far gone he had been.

“And you are exasperatingly cynical,” Charles responded with a knowing smirk. Erik would have bet money Charles had been reading his mind that night. Not in any malevolent way, but with the drink and the charged atmosphere he knew young Charles would have had a hard time resisting.

There was a beat of silence between them stretched long and heavy. Their eyes were locked on each other’s, neither able to look away.

Charles was the one to break the silence. His posh voice dropping low and serious. “After all this is over, Erik, where are you going to go?” It was obviously something he had been thinking about. As his younger self’s eyes widened, Erik realized that Charles may have been even further gone than he.

“I expect I’ll continue on as I have all these years,” Erik said, sounding absolutely lost.

“Just know you’ll always have a place with us,” young Charles said, and Erik knew what was coming next. “With me.”

Erik remembered exactly what had crossed his mind at that moment in his life. He had looked into the ever-so-blue eyes of the man in front of him and marveled at his kindness. Erik hadn’t felt like he belonged somewhere for decades, and suddenly this ridiculous, wonderful, maddening man had offered him the world.

The moments had seemed to blend together. The space between them went from a foot to an inch, those eyes glanced down to his lips for a split second before meeting his again. Erik could not think of a single thing to say, because there were no promises he could make. He had never planned to survive his showdown with Shaw, or to help the American government, or to make friends. There was nothing he could say, so he gave Charles the one thing he could.

Their lips met.

Erik remembered it as a flurry of feelings and touching and kissing with abandon. Charles remembered every moment with aching clarity. As Erik watched their younger selves move slowly from awkward touches to clutching at each other as if they were the only two people in the world, he also felt exactly what Charles had in that very moment. The joy was intoxicating, and Erik knew that if he had stayed, Charles would have been content to be at his side as long as they both lived.

Young Erik pulled away and turned down his eyes, so only his older self saw the absolute disappointment on Charles’ face. The memory dissolved, and Erik found himself face to face with his Charles.

There were no words, no name for what the years had put them through, so instead of trying to rationalize and control the situation, Erik gave in to his own frivolous wants.

He kissed Charles.

It was strange, given that it was only their second kiss, but feeling his lips against Charles’ felt like coming home. Charles moved his hand from Erik’s temple to his cheek, and Erik held onto his arm like it was the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

They were too old for messy kisses and wandering hands, but the kiss was so tender and wrapped in history Erik felt unfamiliar tears prick his eyes. It felt like years had passed by the time they pulled apart, this time without any regret or uncertainty.

“I need to say goodbye,” Charles said after a moment, their foreheads pressed together.

Erik knew he wasn’t talking about saying goodbye to him.


	22. The School

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little bit different from the others in that there is no specific point of view. It also is pretty short. I will be posting the final chapter very soon :). Thanks and a virtual high five to anyone who has held out this long to read my story, you are my heroes.

The day the professor left for good was seared into the hearts and minds of every teacher and student in the school.

A sleek black car pulled up the drive and a tall, grey haired man got out of the driver’s side door and pulled a wheelchair from the back. He held it in place as the professor lifted himself out of the car and into his chair.

The children already watching from the windows didn’t recognize the other man. He looked like he could be someone’s stately grandfather in his pressed slacks and dark turtleneck.

The two of them traveled through the school at a leisurely pace, and students watched their passing with wide eyes through every doorway. Some let out gasps as they realized who the man was. A little girl who had been in the infirmary with the professor squeaked out, “That’s the professor’s special friend.”

Rogue stood alone in a doorway and met his eyes as they passed, hissing, “Magneto.”

The word spread through the halls like wildfire until every student knew who was currently inside of their home. Some of them ran and hid out of fear, and others stood defiantly in the hallways, hoping to catch another glimpse.

Storm and Scott and Jean looked up from the classes they were teaching in a single moment as they heard a familiar voice in their minds. They dismissed their students and rushed through the halls.

Once all five of the adults were in the study the door was kept shut, but a boy with super sensitive hearing listened at the door and told the other students what he heard.

There was yelling and protests from their teachers, and calm words from their professor.

Eventually the entire room fell silent for a few long moments. The boy strained to hear anything else. Finally, he hard Storm’s voice, think with tears, travel through the wood.

“We love you, too,” she said.

The boy ran when he heard footsteps. All the children scattered, so when the door opened to reveal their teary-eyed teachers and the professor holding Magneto’s hand, there was no one to witness it.

They walked back through the halls much the same way they came, and most of the students looked on in amazement without saying a word. The two men were approaching the door when Rogue stepped in front of them, Bobby at her side, Kitty and Peter at her back, and set her feet with blistering conviction.

“You’re leaving us,” she said to the professor. It wasn’t a question.

“Yes Rogue, I am, so I’m going to need you, all of you,” he said, speaking to the other three as well, “To help care for the children. You’re X-Men now.”

A moment later they all relaxed slightly and after another beat moved out of the way in unison.

The moment the two men were out the door each and every person in the school felt a comforting presence fill their minds. They saw their own faces reflected back at them, the image suffused by the feelings of pride and joy. It was a goodbye unlike any other, and when the professor was finally out of range there wasn’t a dry eye in the mansion.

They all knew the professor wasn’t coming back.


	23. Charles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are. What began as an exercise in writing turned into this crazy fic. I hope that any and all of you who have taken the time to read it have at least found some enjoyment in it, because I really enjoyed writing it. My absolutely unending thanks goes out to anyone who has commented, left kudos, or read this. I love all of you, and I send virtual hugs to one and all. 
> 
> Once again, Thank you,
> 
> -Maggie

Charles allowed himself to cry once he and Erik were safely in the car. Once he had completely let go of all the minds of the people he loved the tears started to roll down his face with reckless abandon. There was no stopping the aching in his chest and the sorrow in his mind.

Erik was silent for the longest time, and Charles was all the more grateful for it. Before, it would have been a hit to his pride for Erik to see him crying, but he knew there was nothing they needed to hide any longer.

After the episode had passed and Charles’ breath had stopped hitching, Erik spoke levelly. “You could always go back, you know.”

It obviously hurt him to say it, and Charles soothed Erik’s uncertainty with a hand on his shoulder. “I had to make a choice Erik, my school or you, because I would never be able to keep up a life dipping a toe in here and there, and neither would you. For fifty years I have chosen the school, the students, that life I envisioned for myself. Now, I’m not only choosing you, I am choosing myself. I’ve spent my whole life trying to make other people happy. It’s my turn now.”

Erik took one hand off the steering wheel and placed it over Charles’ and squeezed his fingers tightly for a moment before letting go. Simply because he could, now that the walls between them had been broken down, Charles looked into Erik’s mind to read his reaction.

As always, Erik’s mind was clean and orderly, every emotion and thought kept in check, but there was a new edge of relaxation that made Charles smile. Erik was learning how to be himself instead of a leader or a villain. And, there was an undeniable tangle of unsorted emotions ranging from joy to fear to love. There was one thought that was ringing through Erik’s mind over and over again, that he was glad he was Charles’ choice, and that maybe, just maybe, after so many years at war, he could find his happiness, too.

Maybe, in the end, peace really was an option.

Charles moved his hand from Erik’s shoulder to where his right hand rested on the steering wheel and pulled it away with little resistance. He tangled their fingers together between them and smiled at how such a simple thing could bring him so much joy. It had been a long time since Charles had felt so happy all at once, even with the lingering sorrow left over from his goodbye.

The drive, Erik had told him, would last around seven hours from Westchester to the safe house, and Charles fell asleep around hour three, still holding Erik’s hand. When he woke up the car was rolling to a smooth stop and Erik hadn’t pulled his hand away. Charles gave it one last squeeze before letting go so Erik could get out of the car and retrieve his chair.

Charles opened his passenger-side door and shifted himself onto his chair as Erik held it steady. The ground was uneven and it sloped upward towards the house, so he rolled slightly out of the way so Erik could close the door and then sent Erik a wordless message to use his power to help him up to the house.

“It would be my pleasure, old friend,” Erik said, and Charles got the feeling he was being extremely literal. Charles gripped the armrests of the chair as Erik held out his arm and lifted him off the ground. Erik walked up the hill slowly, floating Charles alongside him a couple feet off the ground.

As they drew nearer, the house came into view through the fading light of the day. Charles barely held in a gasp as he took in the beautiful villa situated at the top of the hill. He conveyed his pleasure mentally and Erik snorted.

“What were you expecting, Charles? A bunker?” he said with a chuckle.

“I was rather expecting a military base, not a summer home,” Charles replied. The house was made of beautiful cream-colored brick and fit into the landscape as if it had simply grown out of the earth. The windowsills were deep green and Charles spotted a flower box in one of the upper windows. “Is it accessible?” he asked, knowing Erik wouldn’t have brought him there if it were impossible for him to navigate, but it may not be up to perfect standards.

Erik looked practically sheepish, “All of my bases are built in a format providing open spaces and easy accessibility from room to room. The plans were devised with creating an easily defensible environment with room to fight if necessary. It also happens to be completely wheelchair accessible.”

If Charles didn’t know any better he would have thought Erik was blushing.

“There’s also an elevator,” he muttered, and Charles’ small smile grew into a grin.

“I see I was not the only one,” Charles remarked lightly. Erik’s slight embarrassment turned to confusion and his mind asked the question before his mouth did. Charles responded before Erik started to speak, “When I built the bunker and had the mansion repaired and remodeled to be both wheelchair accessible and functional as a school, I had steel reinforcements used. I was never particularly concerned with keeping you out.”

The look Erik gave him then was almost too sweet to bear. Charles felt, due to the link he had been keeping with Erik’s mind, Erik make the effort to focus on all the emotions roiling through his head and send them in Charles’ direction. Charles was hit with the full force of his affection and he felt practically drunk on the sensation.

They stayed like that for a moment outside the house, smiling like fools, before Erik shook himself out of his reverie. “Time for the tour,” he said, floating Charles the rest of the way to the front door before setting the chair gently on the ground. Erik flicked the lock open with his power and strode inside, turning on lights as he travelled down the front hall. Charles wheeled himself through the threshold and couldn’t help thinking they had truly come to the point of no return. It was a strangely comforting thought.

“Are you coming?” Erik voice came from down the hall and to the right. Charles realized he was stopped just inside the door and Erik had already walked down the hall and into the next room. He smiled to himself and closed the door soundly, stepping into his new life.

Charles wheeled down the hall, following Erik’s mind the where he was waiting expectantly, a fond expression of exasperation on his face.

“Are you ready?” Erik asked with a teasing edge to his voice.

Charles thought on the innocuous question for longer than strictly necessary. He thought about all his students over the years, and how he had blessed with so many children to love and care for. He thought of how wonderful his X-Men were, taking charge and truly becoming who they were meant to be. He thought of all the people he had lost over the years and all the pain he had felt, both his own and everyone else’s.

He thought of a lost young man he had latched onto in the warm waters off the coast of Miami, and how no matter how much he loved him it wasn’t enough. He thought of the old man who still possessed that piece of good Charles had felt all those years ago, and how he had finally allowed himself to love.

“Yes,” Charles said, “I am.”


End file.
